The Perennial State
by Padfootz-luvr
Summary: The trio is fleeing desperately, pursued by Death Eaters, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse and falls into a mysterious wood. There, she is found by someone she once knew...or, she thought she did. SBHG, DH compatible. Loosely based on Peter Pan.
1. Chapter One

_**The Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed. _Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property." _There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's _Peter Pan_.**

--

"…_Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away_

_Now it looks as if they're here to stay…"_

--

For the life of her, Hermione Granger had no idea where she had landed.

The last thing she remembered was flying over London; she, Harry, and Ron had been traveling at dangerous speeds, pursued by faceless foes; and they had been traveling by broomstick no less, which was possibly her least favorite form of travel (after Hippogriff, that is). Then…she recalled being hit, by some curse or another, and someone had been screaming (could it have been her?), and then she recalled falling.

The fall had been strangest of all: though at first she had sped towards the ground at what seemed, at the time, a sickeningly slow pace, she found herself picking up incomprehensible speed; the rush of air that had been speeding past her ears and through her hair had turned into thousands of voices, whispering just out of earshot.

Perhaps it had been the vertigo from the horrid plunge, but she couldn't help but feel as though the voices had been speaking backwards. This, of course, was a ridiculous notion, because she had not even been able hear the murmurs properly. And yet, Hermione still thought that she had felt these topsy-turvy voices and situations, just to the left, or above, or to her right…

Presently, however, she was in what she assumed to be a small wood. She had no idea how she could have possibly survived that fall, but the thought was pushed from her head as she took in her surroundings. She concluded that she must have been unconscious for a while, because the nighttime into which she had fallen had dissolved into a warm mid-morning. The air around her was hazy, as though a perpetual mist floated through this area despite the sun and warmth.

Rays of light filtered through the occasional bare patch in the treetops, illuminating a brook nearby. Hermione could hear numerous birds twittering in the area, although she didn't see any about. There was rustling in the underbrush to her right, and years of Mad-Eye Moody's warnings sprang to mind.

She stood quietly, brushing herself off; there was a dampness lingering from the moss on which she had been laying moments before. She glanced down at the soft ground, which was entirely covered with various types of moss and groundcover, from some of which sprang miniscule white flowers. Gnats kept close to the soil, and small clouds of them rose as Hermione stepped through the woods toward the tiny stream. She kneeled at the moist edge, examining the water for purity. She reached for her wand and froze, brown eyes widening as she found nothing but an empty pocket in her jeans.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to remain calm as she stood once more, retracing her steps to where she had awoken. She searched the surrounding area meticulously, several times over, but found naught. Suppressing the urge to curse loudly into the beautiful woodland, she wandered back to the stream, considerably more alert now that she was defenseless. Panic bubbled in her belly even as she scooped several handfuls of cool, fresh water onto her tired face, and she found unexpected tears stinging her eyes.

No. She couldn't cry _now_. She had been through—_they_ had been through—much worse than this. It would be silly to give into panic and such silly things as emotions _now_, of all times. They had—Oh. Oh, god…_They_.

A new terror overwhelmed her as Hermione thought about Harry and Ron. They had been traveling together, what had happened? Where were they? What if—? No. The thoughts that were arresting her mind were too dreadful to fathom.

She decided immediately that she must find a way out of this wood immediately. But which way should she try…Hermione bit her bottom lip hard, contemplating her surroundings. Each direction looked the same…But the trees were not too large, and the woods were light and airy enough that they couldn't bee _too_ deep…

_How far can you walk into the forest?_ The old riddle sprung from the depths of her memories, unbidden, and Hermione's felt a bit heartened as the answer came, as well. _Halfway, because after that you are walking _out_ of it. _No matter which direction she chose, she would eventually reach the edge.

With a sigh, Hermione splashed her face with a few more handfuls of the clear, crisp water, and sipped some of the refreshing liquid before rising once more, and turning to follow along the banks of the stream. The stream flowed at what was almost a lethargic pace, speeding only when confronted with the occasional rock or rotting log. Hermione found herself walking at a similar speed, as the calming sounds of the trickling water and the emotional exhaustion weighed down on her strength.

The sun rose overhead. At what appeared to be midday, she settled onto the soft grass in a small clearing along the bank, under a large willow. The shade was cool, and the water she drank sat heavily in her empty stomach. Hermione felt her eyelids falling, felt herself drifting off, the toll finally getting to her…

"This is private property."

--

"_There's a shadow hanging over me_

_Oh yesterday came suddenly…"_

--

**Feedback is appreciated.**


	2. Chapter Two

_**The Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed. _Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property." _There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's _Peter Pan_.**

--

"_Don't feed me violence, just run with me_

_Through rows of speeding cars…"_

--

"This is private property."

A male voice spoke suddenly, from somewhere quite nearby, and Hermione immediately sprung to her feet, annoyed at her own lack of vigilance. She instinctively reached for her wand as she turned to the intruder—or was _she_ the intruder?—and felt renewed dismay as she remembered that it was missing.

The boy she was now facing did not seem to notice anything. He was dressed in a plain shirt with an old Muggle rock-and-roll band's name inscribed across the chest, and a pair of dark corduroys. He was casually leaning on the willow, observing her with neither alarm nor hostility.

"Who are you?" Hermione managed to ask, finally, after the two had stared at one another for what, under other circumstances, would be deemed an uncomfortable amount of time.

The boy seemed to think this question was funny, and pushed off the tree to walk nearer.

Hermione jumped back a bit, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

The boy let out a bark of laughter, and he walked around her position, keeping his distance. "You look like you're ready for a fight."

"Who are you?" she repeated.

"Hmm…" He stopped circling her, looking thoughtful. "Well, seeing as you are on _my_ land, I'm going to have to ask for you to state who _you_ might be, first. Please." He added the word without sincerity, his smirk growing, and Hermione found she was unpleasantly reminded of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione scowled; he appeared to be a Muggle, but she did not want to take any chances. "Harriet."

The boy nodded, but that bothersome smirk remained planted on his face; Hermione, who normally tried to avoid judging someone by their first impression if she could help it, found herself severely disliking him.

"Alright. My name's Sam, then. And if you go ahead and pretend that 'Sam' is my true name, I will pretend that you are really 'Harriet', alright?" The grin stayed in place.

"Fine, _Sam_," Hermione spat. He chuckled at her indignation. "Where exactly _am_ I, if you don't mind telling me?"

"Well, _Harriet_," he replied. "I'd say you have found herself in the middle of the woods that lay on the edge of my property. Or, rather, my family's property."

Hermione glowered darkly. He was being a right git, but she was sick of wandering through these trees and weeds, when she should be finding her best friends. She decided to swallow her pride, and ask for help. "Do you know how to get out, _Sam_?"

"I certainly hope so, my dear Harriet, or we are both going to be very sorry indeed, come nightfall," he answered, his tone mock-serious. The grin finally fell off of his face as he looked at her appraising. "Did you fall out of a tree, or something?"

Hermione blinked at him, trying to figure out what he could possibly be talking about. "Sam" gestured to her appearance, and Hermione's scowl returned. "I just need to get out of here, alright? I didn't end up here on purpose. We were—" Hermione caught herself; she shut her mouth, eyes widening momentarily. She _must_ be getting tired; she was usually much more reticent.

"'We'?" he echoed, a single eyebrow rising. "Are you telling more there are more wild women running rampant through here?" He looked around at their surroundings, as though he expected Tarzan and Jane to come bursting through a shrub at any moment.

"No…" Hermione's brow furrowed, as she thought about where Ron and Harry could be, what horrible trouble they could have fallen into. "We were separated…I don't know where they are…"

She felt a hot wetness pool in her eyes again, and felt appallingly stupid. She blinked very hard, very quickly, and glanced up, expecting to have to glare at her companion in case his cocky grin had returned. She did not expect to see the first sign of genuine concern overtake his features. Just as her eyes caught his, however, his face resumed its inscrutability.

"Follow me," he commanded, turning and waving his fingers beckoningly. Hermione felt affronted at being ordered around so, but once again suppressed any resentment in the face of her friends' danger.

Hermione followed "Sam" through the woods in a direction perpendicular to the stream she had been following. As she floundered through the brush after him, he lectured her on the stupidity of wandering through unfamiliar woods, and how if she had continued along the way she had been going, she would have been straying for days. Hermione resisted the strong urge to just throw a stick at the back of his head, and instead took to observing their progress. She found herself, though, observing her less-than-companionable comrade.

He looked about her age, maybe a year older at most. His dark hair hung around his eyes in a way that _some_ may have deemed attractive, but Hermione thought he looked simply untidy, especially with his worn sandals and faded tee shirt. He was obviously familiar with the area, which lent credibility to his claim of the woods belonging to his family. In spite of this, Hermione wasn't entirely convinced by his vague explanations; if a family could afford this amount of, admittedly, beautiful land, why couldn't they afford to dress their son properly?

Hermione was so caught in her musings that she barely noticed when the trees thinned and a huge, white house came into view at the opposite end of a large, well-maintained lawn and garden.

"So," he started, waving a hand impatiently. "Here you are. You're out now." He looked at her expectantly.

She stared right back, and couldn't help but notice how utterly familiar his mannerisms seemed to her. She concluded that it was just his sporadic Malfoy-esque characteristics that sparked her recognition.

"You can leave now," he said gently, as though he were speaking to a small child. She didn't move. "No, really, you can go."

Hermione crossed her arms, affronted at being spoken to in such a manner. "I don't know where I am, you great prat," she sneered.

"Sam" rolled his eyes, muttering something about "Muggles".

Hermione started. "Muggles"…? He was a wizard. She took a deep breath, coming to the conclusion that, if he were a Death Eater, he would have already attacked her…she hoped. "What did you say?"

He started, looking slightly guilty, as though he had been caught doing something he oughtn't. "Um, nothing…it wasn't an insult, or anything, if that's what you're—"

Hermione looked at his Muggle attire, and took into consideration what he had just said. He almost certainly was not a Pureblood fanatic: he wouldn't be wearing such clothing, nor would he have treated her so fairly, since he thought she was a Muggle. She wouldn't tell him everything about herself, though, just in case. She finally spoke, "Do you think I'm a Muggle?"

"I just—you…wait…You're not then?" His pale eyes widened in surprised.

Hermione shook her head slowly, smiling just a little bit.

"Oh…well, thank Merlin," he grinned, relieved. "I would have been in deep shit if I would have had to Obliviate you or something. Not that I can use magic outside of school for anything other than self-defense, of course…" He added the last bit quickly. "Well, you can come inside, then, if you need to get cleaned up or use the Floo. The house isn't exactly Muggle-friendly, if you know what I mean, so I couldn't have let you come in, before. You understand."

As he talked, considerably more friendly and at ease, they walked quickly up to the huge house—it was really much more of a manor than a house. He opened the back door, which led into the large, well-furnished kitchen.

Hermione entered, gazing around. He had been telling the truth: the kitchen alone was decorated in moving photographs, a huge clock whose face was that of a sleeping, snoring older gentleman, and a miniature waterfall that appeared out of the air and served as a sink. It really was not Muggle-friendly at all.

They passed a mirror on the way to a large, comfortable-looking living room. As Hermione's reflection appeared, the mirror gave a startled cry, "Oh, dear, you really can look _much_ better…"

Hermione blinked at it in surprise; but it was telling the truth. Her hair was tangled and held various twigs and leaved, her face was smudged with sweat and dirt, and there were brambles caught in her clothes.

She turned to "Sam", who was stifling a grin unsuccessfully. "The loo's down that hall, on the left," he offered, pointing the way. "You can take a shower, if you'd like. The family who lives here won't be home for a while longer, and you don't have to worry about me walking in accidentally…or otherwise…"

She ignored his jab and stared disbelievingly. "You told me this was your house!"

"I lied," he said, unabashed. "It's complicated. I do live here," he said swiftly, seeing the apprehensive look he was receiving. "It just technically isn't _my_ house."

Hermione was still uneasy, but she nodded and headed off in the direction he had shown her.

She showered and brushed her hair of its grime, and cleaned off her face and skin tenderly. Feeling much better, and much more awake, Hermione eyed her own ripped and filthy clothing with distaste. It seemed such a waste to clean up and then pull on the same old garments.

There was a knock at the bathroom door. As if he had read her mind, "Sam's" voice came through, "Here. Open the door."

Hermione looked down at herself; she was still uncovered, and opened the door just a crack. "Sam" smiled back, knowing fully well she wasn't wearing anything. He held out a faded shirt and a pair of jeans. Hermione reached out quickly and snatched them into the bathroom, muttering her thanks.

She heard the young wizard lean against the outside of the door. "The shirt is mine…"

Hermione held it up. It was very similar to the shirt "Sam" was wearing, a faded band tee shirt. She wrinkled her nose at it, wondering exactly how sanitary it was. She glanced back at her own clothing, weighing her options carefully.

"It doesn't look like much," came "Sam's" voice, as though he knew what she was thinking. "But it's the smallest one I had. Plus, it's clean…"

Hermione very much doubted that, but pulled it on anyways. It may have been the smallest he had, but it was still much too large for her. It was however, quite comfortable. She pulled on the jeans (also too large), and used the belt from her own trousers to secure them.

Again, her companion's voice came through the door, "The jeans belong to my friend James. This is his parents' house. He's smaller than me, but I suppose those will be huge on you, seeing as you're a stick."

Hermione scowled at his tactlessness; he really was getting on her nerves.

"But I guess you only need those until yours are fixed and washed, anyways. James's mum can do that for you, when they get back. They should be home by dusk, but if you need to leave before then you can just take the clothes. Are you hungry? I can't cook worth a leprechaun's gold, but there might be some…bread…maybe."

Hermione genuinely laughed at this, and finally opened the bathroom door, swimming in the boys' clothing. "Sam" looked her up and down, a strange expression overcoming his features, before his cocky grin quickly restored itself.

"I'm not hungry," Hermione said. Truthfully, she was, but she didn't want to waste any time before setting out to find Harry and Ron. She couldn't deny her thirst, however. "But if you have any water…?"

He nodded, signaling for her to follow him to the kitchen, where he held a glass under the waterfall, filling it. Hermione gulped it down quickly; she did not care how ridiculous she looked right then, drinking like a camel and dressed in a circus tent.

She nodded her thanks, setting the glass down. "Sam" filled it once more, turning back to her curiously, before sitting at the kitchen table and beckoning for her to join him. Hermione hesitated, knowing she should try to find her friends as quickly as possible, but a voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother reminded her of manners.

No one said anything for a few minutes; Hermione drank this glass of water much more slowly, sipping rather than downing it in one go, and "Sam" scrutinized her carefully.

"So…_Harriet_," he began, smirking. Hermione blushed at the alias, but couldn't shake the feeling that she knew that smirk from somewhere. "Fancy telling me your real name?"

Hermione considered it thoughtfully. "Hermione," she answered quietly, after a long while.

The boy nodded. "I'm Sirius," he said.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, very tempted to ask "about what?" But finally her brown eyes widened in realization and she stared. She gasped, "_Black_?"

--

"_Sleeping pills know sleeping dogs lie_

_Never far enough away_

_Glistening in the cold sweat of guilt…"_

--

**Feedback is appreciated. **


	3. Chapter Three

_**The Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed._ Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property."_ There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's Peter Pan.**

**A/N:** Thank you guys for the positive responses! I have a little less than half of the story complete and saved on my laptop. I run spell-check and grammar-check, and I usually read through the chapters a couple of times to fix minor mistakes, but one can always miss typos and whatnot; so, please, if you see any mistakes, let me know and I will have them eradicated immediately. And, to answer a curious fella's question, the band on the t-shirt Sirius was wearing was AC/DC. He lent Hermione a Led Zeppelin t-shirt in the previous chapter, which was from when he was around fourteen or so; he kept it for nostalgic purposes. The band that appears on the t-shirt he lends Hermione in this chapter is Black Sabbath. Lol, don't think for one minute that I don't have these all in my head. I totally do.

--

"…_Oh, I do believe in all the things you see_

_What comes is better than what came before…"_

--

Hermione groaned, turning her head on the soft pillow. There was a deep hammering noise resounding somewhere within her skull. She felt as though she was encased in something thick and impenetrable, but the occasional muffled sound was filtering through her coffin-like container.

"…utterly exhausted…wandering for days, who knows…wand?"

"…Don't think…with her…" That second voice sounded familiar, and slightly guilty. The first voice paused, and as the encasement slowly fell away, Hermione heard the reprimand in the first voice, directed at the second.

"…_very_ stupid, you know…just inviting…here…What if...Death Eater?"

"I didn't…I'm sorry…she just looked…help."

There was a sigh. "I know. No, don't worry about it, Sirius."

_Sirius_. Oh god. Hermione tried to sit up, and immediately keeled over onto her side, withholding a whimper of pain as the pounding increased tenfold. There were suddenly two pairs of hands, on her shoulders and head, gently forcing her back to a horizontal position once more. The hands that had been cradling her head brushed back her hair, their palms cool on her sweltering forehead.

Hermione eased on eye open a miniscule slit, but immediately closed it at the severe light.

"Is she going to be alright?" This was Sirius. Or, it was the boy who had called himself Sirius. Hermione couldn't remember what had happened after she recognized his eyes, his languidly graceful movements, but she assumed that it had somehow landed her in this dreadful position.

"She'll be fine. She was dehydrated, to be sure, and half starved. Combined with the obvious stress she was under, and the toll of physical exhaustion, her body just collapsed…Something must have shocked her, to make her faint so suddenly like that. Do you know what it was?"

Oh, Merlin…she had _fainted?!_ How utterly undignified and, and…weak! Hermione groaned once more, and was immediately rewarded by a cool washrag on her forehead.

"Er…My name, I think…" It was Sirius again, sounding both abashed and bewildered. "She knew my name."

Another weighty pause. "How odd," the other male voice muttered softly.

A new, female voice spoke. She was very nearby; and Hermione realized, without seeing her, that she had been stroking her hair and comforting her. "For now we should let her get the rest she needs. A dreamless sleep potion for now, then a Pepperup potion after she wakes up...Harold?" Heavy footsteps left the room quickly, in search of the desired items. "We'll get some water in her now, though, before she completely passes out on us again…Sirius, can you…?"

"Oh, er, yeah…" From her right, Hermione felt Sirius lift her into a sitting position, holding her securely with his arms in a way that made her feel as though she was a fragile bomb that could go off without the slightest indication.

Hermione's head protested this new pose obstinately, and she wanted nothing more than to slip back onto her back and sleep off this ache. Sirius's arms tightened firmly as though he anticipated this piqued objection.

Hermione felt the cool glass against her lips, then opened her mouth and drank the offered water greedily. The glass withdrew, and a kind voice admonished her speed tenderly.

"Not too fast, you'll choke, love…" The woman held the glass to her lips once more, and this time Hermione sipped at a reasonable speed.

The heavy footsteps returned, and the glass of water departed once more. A new glass, this time pleasantly warm, touched her lips lightly, and the woman spoke once more.

"This is only a Sleeping Potion, so you can get some rest…you'll feel better tomorrow, dear."

A thought cried out for Harry and Ron at the very back of her mind, but Hermione's desire for rest overcame it immediately and she downed the potion. Once she had finished, Sirius lowered her back onto the pillows carefully.

Two sets of footsteps began to leave, although all the sound around her was growing deeper and less discernible. One set paused at the door, and the woman's voice came through her mind's haze, "Sirius, will you stay with her for a few extra minutes to make sure she gets to sleep alright?"

Sirius answered in the affirmative, and the footsteps left.

There was a sigh, and Sirius spoke quietly, as though he didn't expect her to hear and did not want to wake her, "Who are you, Hermione?" Hermione mumbled something back, and he chuckled. "Not so far as I've seen, love."

Hermione's head turned away from him, and her cheek rested on the pillow as she finally drifted off.

Her companion sighed again, peacefully this time, and she briefly felt him lean in. "Sleep well," he whispered inaudibly, his lips brushing her temple.

When Hermione regained consciousness, the kind-voiced woman was there, helping her sit up, and holding a warm glass to her lips. Hermione drank it quickly, coughing as the potion burned and licked at her throat. Immediately afterward, the warm bottle was replaced with a cool glass of water, which Hermione sipped at gingerly, wary of her burning throat. She opened her eyes, blinking in adjustment as she took in her surroundings: a white four-poster bed (in which she was presently resting); pale lavender walls; two large windows with flowing chiffon curtains.

A lovely woman, whom Hermione guessed to be slightly older than Mrs. Weasley, smiled sympathetically. "Nice to see you back in the land of the living."

A thin gentleman, around the same age, entered the room nervously. He looked surprised to see Hermione awake already, and glanced at the woman uncertainly. In his hands he held a small vial, and was fiddling with it nervously.

The woman glared hotly as he entered, though not at the man. Her hateful gaze was drawn to the vial of clear liquid. "Are you sure we have to do this, dear?"

"We…ahem," he cleared his throat anxiously. "We must. You know that I am loath to put her through this, darling, but in such times…and what with some of the things she said after she first fainted…"

Hermione glanced between the two of them, fearful. Things? What things had she said? Where exactly was she? Was she dead? Is that why Sirius was here, and looked so young?

No, she reasoned with herself. If she were dead, she wouldn't be in such a wretched state of health.

The man came closer, regret showing plainly behind his spectacles. "I'm so very sorry, my dear," he apologized; and, Hermione truly felt he was being sincere. She tried to nod, but could only run through all the possibilities through her mind. Would he torture her? Was the potion in the vial some sort of ghastly poison?

He held the vial to her lips, and tipped just enough so that a couple of drops trickled onto the corner of her lips. Hermione pursed her lips, determined not to allow the vile stuff in.

The bespectacled wizard withdrew his wand from his robe pocket, murmuring soft apologies the entire while, and flicked the wand as he mumbled a spell that was unknown to Hermione.

Immediately she felt as though her nose no longer allowed her to breathe; it was just a useless addendum to her face. She shook her head fiercely, resisting the urge to gasp for air.

The older woman who had been sitting on the edge of the bed was pleading to the man to end the spell, that it would kill her, but he turned away and concentrated on Hermione's face.

Finally she could not hold any longer, and opened her mouth, panting for breath. As she did so, she felt the tasteless trickle of the potion drops leak into her mouth. Almost immediately, a heavy fog descended over all her senses but for her hearing.

The man cleared his throat. Then: "What is your full name?"

"Hermione Jean Granger." Hermione distantly heard her own voice answering; she felt powerless to stop it. It was entirely similar to the experience of being under the Imperius curse, as she had in her Fourth Year Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and utterly dissimilar as well, in all the ways that mattered: there was no option of fighting this.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"How did you find your way into our woods?" The woman asked this time, although the caring tone to her voice did nothing to either deviate or encourage Hermione's answer.

"I fell from my broomstick when we were attacked."

"'We?' With whom were you traveling?"

"My friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

There was a shocked pause. "Who attacked you?" the woman asked breathlessly.

"Death Eaters," came Hermione's monotone.

"And how do you know Sirius?"

"He was Harry's godfather."

The woman took a shuddering breath. "'Was?'"

"He was killed last summer."

The interrogators did not say anything for a while; then, at long last, the man asked, "When were you born?"

"The 19th of September, 1979."

Another long silence. The woman recovered first. "Where is your wand?"

"I do not know. It was lost in the fall."

"Why are you here?" The man sounded disgusted, but just as Hermione felt herself beginning to answer, a horrible nausea overcame her system. She fell onto her side, leaning over the edge of the bed as her body was racked with heaves and dry sobs. The woman was rubbing her back comfortingly, and holding back her hair.

The man had stood and was pacing fretfully, talking to himself. "What should we do? Do we tell Dumbledore? How will she return?"

"Harold," the woman said gently. The man turned as though he had forgotten they were there, and stared with evident shock. "Worry about that later. Right now, we have a young woman in need of our help. Please bring some water, Dreamless Sleep Potion, and more Pepperup Potion, if you don't mind."

Harold nodded and left, shutting the door securely behind him.

"No," Hermione rasped. "No…sleep. No sleep…" She folded over, coughing fit resumed.

"Dear, you really should try and get some rest…Veritaserum takes an extraordinary amount of energy out of you, especially your first time being administered…"

"Please," Hermione implored, finally sitting up. There were tears running unchecked down her cheeks, the older woman noticed with dismay. "I'll rest…but I can't just continue to _sleep_, and do nothing, while Harry and Ron are out fighting V-Voldemort, or getting hurt, or getting k-kill…" She dissolved into sobs that had been a long time coming.

"I am sure they are fine, Hermione," the woman reassured. "They are probably resting up, themselves."

Hermione smiled shakily; she was entirely unconvinced, but appreciated the woman's gesture either way.

"Now," the woman said. "Let's get you cleaned up." She helped Hermione to her feet, and guided her to the attached restroom. It was decorated in the same pastel colors, and the bathwater that ran from a porcelain tap smelled of jasmine.

Hermione allowed the woman to help her undress and lower her into the steaming water. Normally she would have been mortified to be seen in such weakened and desperate circumstances, but the past few weeks, and now this incomprehensible situation, had made it difficult for her body to cope with the mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion.

The woman left, and returned with a pale bathrobe and a large, worn tee shirt. Hermione examined it suspiciously, noticing the Black Sabbath emblem right away.

The woman smiled at Hermione's scrutiny. "It's Sirius's," she confirmed Hermione's suspicions. "He offered."

Hermione nodded, and, after drying herself off, adorned the worn top. It was even softer than the previous one, and larger too; it fell past mid-thigh, and would have made an ideal nightshirt under any other conditions.

The robe was unbelievably soft, and warm without being stifling. Hermione meandered back to the bedroom, noticing the tray filled with an intimidating amount of food. She glanced back at the aging woman, who was watching with curious amusement.

"Sirius," she said, by way of explanation.

Hermione nodded, although she wasn't sure why he was offering all this kindness when he had been so haughty and uncouth the day before. Wait…how long _had_ she been out? She asked the older witch, who said Hermione had been in and out of consciousness for about three days. Hermione felt renewed panic at this, but the woman ushered her into bed with a firm hand.

The two potions and water that the woman had requested were sitting on the bedside table, beside the food tray. Hermione nibbled at the edge of some toast, and managed to swallow a few spoonfuls of porridge before she turned to the water.

The woman sat at the edge of the bed, mending some garments at Hermione ate and drank as much as she felt able.

"I'm sorry, what is your name?" Hermione asked after she had been watching the woman; the woman was mending her clothing that she been wearing when she had fallen.

The woman laughed in a lovely way before answering. "Oh, dear, I'm so sorry! Here I had completely forgotten you had no idea who I was! How silly of me. I'm Anne Potter. You can call me Anne, or Mrs. Potter…whatever you feel most comfortable with." She smiled in that heartfelt way, and then went back to mending.

Mrs. Potter…Harry's paternal grandmother, whom he would never meet. Hermione expected her eyes to well up with tears, but found she was completely dried out. And suddenly, she was beyond fatigued.

Mrs. Potter noticed abruptly, and set aside the mending. She leaned forward, and adjusted Hermione's pillows for her, grabbing the Dreamless Sleep Potion. Hermione accepted the potion readily this time, and murmured her thanks and she welcomed the long-awaited sleep.

--

"…_And you better come to me_

_And you better run to me…"_

--

**Feedback is appreciated.**


	4. Chapter Four

_**The Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed. _Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property." _There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's _Peter Pan_.**

**A/N:** I had a reader message me to ask about the song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter. I basically have a few playlists in iTunes that I listen to while writing any given chapter; each playlists varies, mood-wise, and sometimes a particular song will capture the feeling I am trying to portray so I basically play it on repeat until I go utterly insane. I'll take some of the lyrics that are relevant to the chapter, or the themes, or the characters' relationships, etc. Chapter One used lyrics from "Yesterday", by The Beatles. Chapter Two featured Imogen Heap's "Speeding Cars. "I Found a Reason" was the song in Chapter Three; it is by Velvet Underground, but I listened to Cat Power's cover. This chapter has Coldplay's "Clocks". Enjoy.

--

"_Confusion never stops_

_Closing walls and ticking clocks…"_

--

When she opened her eyes, the room was dark, although the curtains were not drawn. There was a hunched figure in an armchair, which had been pulled right up next to the bedside. The figure was slumped onto the bed, head leaning on crossed arms. Hermione recognized the dark hair hanging over his eyes after a moment.

"Sirius?" she whispered into the dark.

The figure sat straight up, and his pale eyes found her darker ones quickly, even in the deep blue of the pre-dawn. He said nothing, just stared at her.

"Could you," Hermione started, and then cleared her throat before trying again. "Could you hand me a glass of water?"

Sirius nodded, and reached forward to hand her the cool glass. Hermione sipped at it thoughtfully, cherishing the cool liquid in her throat. Sirius watched her carefully, and when she looked like she was done, took the glass from her and set it back on the table.

Hermione didn't say anything for a while longer, but instead watched the lightening of the sky outside of the windows. As the colorless light filtered into the room, she turned back to the wizard beside her. His eyes had started to droop already, and he was leaning back in the chair.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked. She did not ask in a way that seemed rude at all, just inquisitive.

"I was seeing if you were doing any better," he answered after a long silence.

"Oh, and how well was that going when you were asleep in that chair?" she laughed mildly.

Sirius looked flustered at this, and began to rise from the chair as though to leave. Hermione sat up and placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

"I don't mind," she said, the smile falling from her face. "It was nice to wake up with someone beside me." She blushed, realizing belatedly exactly how she sounded, and was thankful for the concealing, icy color of the light.

Sirius didn't seem to notice anything; he stared at her hand on his arm and nodded, slouching back in the chair.

"Unless you want to leave," she said quickly. "I don't mean to be asking you to stay here if you'd rather be—"

"It's fine," he interrupted, staring out the window. The light blue light was warming to a buttery yellow. "Are you hungry?"

"Not in the least. Are you?"

He shook his head, still watching the lightening atmosphere. The horizon was glowing, presently, and the first edge of the sun peaked over the trees. He turned back to observe her as she, in turn, observed the sunrise meditatively. He frowned, as if just realizing something, and said, "You're wearing my shirt."

Hermione started out of her trance, and looked down at herself. "Yes." She looked up at him, amused. "Well spotted." She laughed a little at his expression. "Mrs. Potter said you offered it."

"I did."

"What, did you expect me to sleep naked rather than accept another of your shirts?" She turned back to the window, sparing him the embarrassment of being caught glancing down the length of her body, covered as it was.

"I suppose. You did _faint_ at my mere name, if you recall."

Hermione smiled sadly. "That was because of something entirely different."

Another awkward pause settled upon the pair.

"I'm sorry."

Hermione turned to him in surprise. "What on earth for?"

He shrugged.

She shrugged back, offering a weak smile. "You know, I am getting a little hungry."

Sirius grinned; obviously he had been, as well. "Would you rather I go down and bring food up here, or…?"

"No, it's probably high time I stepped out of this bedroom," she sighed. She waited for a moment, embarrassed at having to ask, "Sirius?"

"Hmm?"

"Could you…help me out of the bed? I'm sorry for being such a pain, I just don't want to overestimate—"

Sirius did not let her finish as he stood without delay and held out an arm, allowing her to lean against him should she wish. Once she found her footing, she walked towards the washroom without difficulty. She turned back to Sirius, who was staring at her exposed legs openly. He glanced back up at her with a smirk.

"You're far too thin," he stated.

Hermione rolled her eyes in response, annoyed with him once more. "You go do whatever it is you do in the mornings—" Sirius's face flushed a dark pink. "—I'll see you down there in a while."

He nodded and left, and closing the door behind him as Hermione made her way into the bathroom. She emerged a while later, feeling considerably better, and dressed in her newly cleaned and mended jeans. Her blouse was still torn, however; seeing no other options, Hermione pulled on the band tee that Sirius had first lent her and made her way out the door. She glanced down the long hallway, and began making her way toward the staircase. She walked slowly, examining the sleeping portraits of various witches and wizards on the walls.

Just as she reached the staircase, the door to her right opened abruptly, and Sirius stepped out, shutting it behind him before she could see the inside of the room.

He smiled mischievously at her, glancing approvingly at his shirt on her slender frame, and bowed his head, his hair still damp from his shower.

"I'll show you the way," he said quietly. "James and his parents are still asleep…" They made their way down the stairs and he pointed down a hallway that extended from the first landing they came to. "James's room is down that way, on the left. Mine is across and down three doors."

Hermione stared up at him questioningly. "What were you doing in that room beside mine, then?"

"Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about," he replied evasively. He cocked his head as her words sunk in. "Is that your room then, up there? How long are you planning on staying?"

"As little time as possible," Hermione replied coolly. She was investigating the wood grain of the polished banister interestedly. She looked back up at Sirius in time to see his expressionless mask replace an expression of mild hurt. "Not because of—No, everyone has been wonderful—" _With the exception of the Veritaserum incident_, she thought to herself. "—I just have to get back to my own ti—family and everything as soon as I can."

Sirius nodded as though he understood, but his stoicism remained. "Come on, then," he said, prompting her to continue walking as he followed.

Hermione couldn't help but feel he was walking uncomfortably close behind her, but when she stopped hastily at the final landing and turned, he was much farther away from her than she had thought.

When they reached the kitchen, Sirius stepped around her to open one of the two cupboards in the spacious room. The door opened to reveal various fruits and vegetables. Sirius closed the cupboard door, and then opened it again, revealing flour, eggs, milk, and the like. He glanced back at, grinning sheepishly.

"Well, either we both suffer through my cooking or we just wait around until James's dad gets up and makes breakfast."

Hermione frowned for a second, remembering James's father. Although she hadn't realized t at the time, the man who had acted as her interrogator the day before could be no one but Harry's grandfather: messy, albeit thinning, hair; spectacled eyes; thin face.

She looked up suddenly, catching Sirius contemplating her curiously. He raised a brow, just as he had when he'd found her in the woods, but did not say anything.

Hermione spoke slowly, still unsure, "Let's just…wait…"

Sirius nodded and looked out one of the huge white windows at the pale pink sky. His brow furrowed as he looked into the woods at the edge of the huge lawn. Then, he turned to Hermione unexpectedly, beaming. "Do you want to go look for your wand?"

Hermione nodded; at least it was a fairly productive idea. They headed out the kitchen door, striding across the dewy grass quickly. As they entered the woods, Hermione turned over her shoulder to see the manor at opposite their position, and was immediately reminded of descriptions of Pemberly.

"Are you coming?" Sirius waited impatiently, already inside the tiny forest, until Hermione entered as well, and followed him along the makeshift path.

"What were you doing in here, when you found me?" she asked, the question popping into her mind all of a sudden.

"Walking," he replied, his expression closed.

They continued along in silence, Hermione alternating between observing their progress and examining the differences between this Sirius and the one she had known.

If she had not seen photographs of him from when he was younger, she wouldn't have guessed it was the same wizard. This Sirius's hair was shorter, he had a tan from time spent out of doors, and his eyes were bright, laughter just on the edge of everything he said. The most significant difference, however, was that this Sirius was happy. Genuinely happy. He did not know undeserved pain and misery as Harry's godfather had…but he would.

Sirius stopped, turning to lean against a tree, and Hermione realized they were at the small clearing beside the stream where he had found her. "Do you know where you might have lost it?"

She nodded, and began walking upstream, hoping she would recognize the area where she had landed. After a while of walking the sun had fully risen and the area became warmer despite the cover the trees provided.

"Sweet Merlin, no wonder you were so exhausted," Sirius muttered. He started, as though realizing what he'd said, and looked at her concernedly. "How are you doing?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and answered, "I'm fine. I'm not about to collapse on you or anything."

"Well…tell me if you need to stop or something," he replied, shrugging lamely.

They continued on. Finally, just when Hermione felt about ready to call it quits and return to the comfortable house, she spied a round, mossy area where the grass had been blown away from the center, twigs and small branches were broken and strewn about.

"What d'you reckon happened here?" Sirius had stopped as well, and stood at her side, looking at the unnatural clearing. She knew he felt it too: there seemed to be a strange, pulsing magic rippling outwards from where she had landed.

Hermione did not answer, but immediately felt both a strange, phenomenally strong pull to the area just as there arose within her a potent fear. "My wand is in there," she whispered, mostly to herself.

Sirius was looking at her oddly, but he saw that she did not want to enter the clearing and began to step toward it to find her wand. Hermione grabbed his arm to stop him, and looked at him pleadingly.

"Don't."

"You need your wand," he replied simply, shrugging her off. He stepped into the clearing, where she had landed twenty years in the past.

--

"_Gonna come back and take you home_

_I could not stop that you now know…"_

--

**Feedback is appreciated, as always.**


	5. Chapter Five

_**The Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed. _Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property." _There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's _Peter Pan_.**

**A/N:** Thanks again for all the positive reviews I am getting! You guys are really inspiring; it is never fun to write a story and never know what anyone thinks about it. Thanks again, you guys! This chapter features "Cannonball" by Damien Rice...it's a fantastic song, I highly recommend downloading it by any (legal) means possible...Ha. Legal. Right.

--

"…_stones taught me to fly_

_and love taught me to lie…"_

--

**_Previous chapter: _**

_Sirius was looking at her oddly, but he saw that she did not want to enter the clearing and began to step toward it to find her wand. Hermione grabbed his arm to stop him, and looked at him pleadingly._

_"Don't."_

_"You need your wand," he replied simply, shrugging her off. He stepped into the clearing, where she had landed twenty years in the past._

If they had been expecting something climactic to occur, they were sorely disappointed. Sirius bent low to the ground, throwing aside snapped twigs as he looked for her wand. Hermione wanted to follow him into the clearing to help, but that horrendous fear of the area arrested her ability to move forward.

Sirius reached under some of the bent grass and withdrew her slender wand, retreating from the clearing and returning to Hermione's side, holding out the wand delicately. Hermione it and threw her arms about his neck, pulling him to her in a relieved embrace. Before Sirius could respond, she let go quickly and took the wand, looking embarrassed.

"Thank you," she muttered. Sirius nodded and began walking toward the stream once more. Hermione followed, feeling silly at having been afraid of the clearing, but when she turned back to it she felt the feelings of dread combined with a desperate yearning return.

They continued along the banks of the stream, retracing their path until they came to a place where they could exit the woods. Sweating and tired, the pair headed to the manor once more.

Entering through the kitchen door, they found themselves confronted by three worried Potters.

"We just went to get her wand," Sirius interrupted their questions, enervated. He and Hermione each collapsed into chairs at the kitchen table, and she set her wand there, as if it were proof.

Mrs. Potter joined them, looking at the two of them concernedly. James Potter stepped up to the table, but did not take a seat. Instead, he stared at Hermione, drinking in her appearance. She, in turn, stared right back, astonished at the resemblance between her best friend and his father. His nose was a bit longer and thinner, and his eyes were a light hazel, but other than that the resemblance was just as uncanny as everyone always claimed.

Hermione looked away and Mrs. Potter steered her chin to look at her carefully. She scrutinized the younger witch's face gently, then smiled. "You're looking much better, dear…even with Sirius wearing you out first thing in the morning."

Hermione blushed hotly, trying to ignore the identical smirks that appeared on James and Sirius's faces.

Mrs. Potter stood, and joined her husband beside the counter, speaking with him softly.

James took her seat, trying to suppress his smirk unsuccessfully. Hermione couldn't shake the idea that it was Harry sitting beside her, so strong was the likeness. "Merlin, I can only imagine what you looked like before, then."

That helped shake the image. As Hermione listened to James and Sirius, she noticed that, although Harry may resemble his father, their characters were entirely dissimilar. She wondered if he would have turned out any differently if he had known his father, growing up…and if they would have become friends, if he had adopted a similar cockiness.

"…missed breakfast, we had no idea where you were, mate," James was saying. Hermione glanced at the clock; it was well past noon. "Had we known you were off gallivanting with our guest, _wearing her out_…" James turned his attention to Hermione once more, his smile returning. "We haven't properly met, although I helped carry you to the room where you've been staying." His expression showed that he was entirely aware of his heedless words, just trying to get a rise out of her. "I'm James."

"Hermione," she replied, not bothering with the formality of handshakes.

Presently a large plate nearly overflowing with sandwiches was floated onto the table's center, followed by five glasses of pumpkin juice and water, as well as salad, plates, bowls, and utensils. Mr. Potter conjured a chair for his wife, and then sat himself down as well. The two teenage boys dug in immediately, but Hermione was more hesitant. She glanced uneasily at Mr. Potter, only to find him looking right back at her.

He grinned uncertainly, and she knew he felt terrible about the Veritaserum. He mouthed, "We'll talk later", and then picked a sandwich from the platter.

Hermione turned her own attention to the food, suddenly famished.

After they had finished, and Mr. Potter had charmed the dishes to clean themselves, James dragged Sirius, who dragged Hermione, out onto the lawn in the backyard. James looked suspiciously at Hermione for a second, as though questioning her presence, before more or less ignoring her and turning to his best friend excitedly. They began talking about the prospects of making part o the lawn into a Quidditch Pitch, arguing with good humor about how to go about it magically.

Hermione wandered over to a lone willow, leaning against it and removing her wand from her pocket for assessment. After pausing to wonder if the Ministry could detect underage magic when its source was a nonexistent witch, she decided to chance it and waved the wand carefully near the roots of the tree, muttering a harmless charm she had learned in Herbology. A single sprout emerged from the soil, unfurling noiselessly and growing into an infant version of its parent willow. She waited for a while, scanning the horizon for any sign of an owl carrying her notice of expulsion, but nothing came. She turned back to the sprout and muttered a reversal charm, watching it as it slowly returned to its previous state: a seed.

"That's some magic trick," a voice muttered facetiously into her ear. Hermione turned to its owner, startled to see Sirius had left James, who was speaking with his father and gesturing widely with his arms in reference to the lawn.

Sirius looked back over his shoulder, and smirked. "He'll get his Quidditch Pitch." His grey eyes returned to Hermione's wand. "It's alright?"

"Seems like," she answered, her own eyes trained on the item in her hands. "I don't know it survived the fall…I don't know how _I_ survived the fall…"

Sirius waited patiently for her to continue. She was revealing more now than he knew she meant to, and he was not about to stop her. After a bit, though, he grew tired of waiting. "Are you out of school, then?"

Her head jerked up, nearly colliding with his chin as he had edged closer. His pale grey eyes were unblinking, searching her face without emotion. "Er…I…" she began, unsure. He really was much too close. "I—" Hermione was saved from lying by Mr. Potter, who had strolled over, leaving his son to walk around the lawn thoughtfully.

Sirius leaned back and away from Hermione instantaneously, his tense demeanor replaced by his usual, casual one. "So is James getting his Pitch?"

Mr. Potter laughed openly, a refreshingly candid sound from the older gentleman. "I'd say so."

Sirius smirked. "Oh, Mr. P…you're too easily persuaded by his charms."

"Bah, he learned everything he knows from his old man," he said in a mildly haughty manner, hands in his pockets as he shrugged.

Sirius laughed, a shockingly familiar sound, and stood. "I suppose I'll go help him plot his course of action." He loped off across the lawn towards James.

Mr. Potter took his place against the willow, looking after him. "He's quite the astute young man, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione silently agreed; Sirius had known that Mr. Potter wanted to speak with her alone, she was sure of it.

"Now," Mr. Potter began, quietly. He turned to her. "I've explained to Dumbledore your…_predicament. _I told him the truth, but none of the details you unwillingly provided us, the other day. I apologize sincerely for that, by the way…Times like these…well, I only knew from my Auror days how to deal with it, but I realize now there could have been a gentler way to go about it. I am truly sorry, Hermione."

Hermione nodded, accepting his apology.

"Dumbledore is looking into all possible ways that this could have happened, and is probably going to want to speak with you as soon as possible. For now, my only advice is to try and get through your time here as best as you can. I wouldn't worry about your friends," he said, seeing her mouth open to protest. She snapped it closed, scowling. "Although it has never been on quite so immense a scale, there have been accounts of time travel gone awry. In the cases where the traveler manages to return to their future—" He took a deep breath, as though these cases were few and far between. "—the traveler's return is either meticulously calculated, and they return almost the precise moment they disappeared…"

"Or?" she prompted.

"Or..." he began shakily. "Or they are returned years after when they disappeared. Obviously that is not desirable, so Dumbledore is putting a lot of research into the resolution of this dilemma. You can expect that Anne and I will be assisting in any way we can."

Hermione nodded resolutely, taking it all in.

"You are welcome to stay here as long as you want, Hermione Granger. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that Sirius may prefer you to choose to stay here, at least for the rest of the summer while he resides here as well." Mr. Potter's eyes were twinkling in a way that was remarkably similar to Albus Dumbledore's.

Hermione nodded more; she was still trying to accept that there was virtually nothing she could do but research every possibility.

Mr. Potter seemed to read her mind, and said, very firmly, "While I can understand your desire to research ways for you to return to your home, constant research will do you no good. Just because you are not in your own time does not mean you shouldn't continue to live. Also, you must understand that Sirius and James must not know where you come from. You know their futures. Constant research would only spark their curiosity. And that is a force with which no one should reckon." He smiled kindly.

"What should I say, then? What will be my history?" Hermione asked. _Who will I be?_

"You do not need to explain anything," Mr. Potter said. "To anyone. There is no need to lie, to make up a history. Yes they will undoubtedly be wondering…Let them wonder. Let them all wonder. Mystery makes a girl attractive." Mr. Potter smiled conspiratorially. "They will not insist."

Hermione nodded again; she was beginning to feel like a bobble head doll on a dashboard.

Mr. Potter stood, indicating he had no more to say, for now. "Please feel free to make yourself at home for however long you choose to stay with us; you may enter any room you please, use any device you find. Would you like to stay in the room you are currently occupying, Hermione?"

"Yes, please," she answered, her voice very small.

He offered a hand, which she gladly accepted, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. He turned to leave, but Hermione spoke the question that had been at the back of her mind all morning.

"Mr. Potter, what is today's date?"

"Today is June 20th, 1977." His sympathetic gaze only served to depress her further.

Mr. Potter turned and made his way over to his son, who was describing something with grand hand gestures to a laughing Sirius.

As Mr. Potter approached, Sirius looked back over to Hermione and waved her over, but she shook her head, smiling with tight lips, and meandered into the house via the kitchen door. If she was going to be staying there, she may as well get to know the place better; while Hermione had a feeling that Sirius would have no problem showing her around (in fact, he would probably insist on giving her the grand tour), she wanted nothing more than to be alone.

She wandered through the house, glancing at the grandeur of the foyer and the two sweeping staircases that extended from it. She found a study, a comfortable-looking living room with a human-sized fireplace (perfect for Floo), and several empty guest rooms. The home sparkled with crystal, and rich wood, and old money.

On the second floor, Hermione walked through a large arch, expecting a lounge room, and came across the Potters' library. The walls were lined with mahogany floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, with rolling ladders set up throughout the expansive room; there were several huge bookcases in the center of the room, as well, creating wide aisles. Hermione strolled through the walkways, in awe of the rare titles she saw adorning the shelves. She found several overstuffed, crimson armchairs at the back of the library; the area reminded her strongly of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Hermione remembered Mr. Potter's words of welcome, and stepped onto a ladder, climbing to the top steps. She felt the ladder quiver, obviously enchanted. She looked over to a book that was to her left, out of reach. The ladder moved on its own, smoothly, and situated itself right at the book she had been eyeing. Hermione extracted it from its place on the shelf, and climbed down the ladder carefully, patting it in thanks as she stepped off.

She settled into one of the armchairs with the book, the familiar smell of bound pages and ink comforting her infinitely. For the first time since she had landed in this time, Hermione felt perfectly at ease.

--

"…_it's not hard to fall, _

_when you float like a cannonball…"_

--

**Feedback is forever appreciated. Thanks!**


	6. Chapter Six

_**The Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed. _Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property." _There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's_Peter Pan_.**

**A/N:** Thank you guys so much! Your support is amazing. The song is "Whistle for the Choir", by The Fratellis.

--

"…_so if you're lonely, _

_then why'd you say you're not lonely?"_

--

"Hermione, dear," a kind voice came through the library.

Hermione looked up from her book, startled. She immediately recognized the graying auburn hair of Mrs. Potter as she neared, and smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I was so caught up in the book," she apologized.

Mrs. Potter beamed, happy that Hermione was finding herself more comfortable in her home. "This old library hardly gets any use," she murmured, gazing around the ancient shelves. "I'm just happy to see someone using it again. Supper will be ready soon, if you're hungry."

Hermione nodded; she was famished, but she hadn't noticed until the mention of food. She started toward the ladder, to return the book to its place.

"You can leave it on the table, dear," Mrs. Potter said. "That way you can return to it tomorrow, or later tonight, if you'd like. Or if you'd rather, it will put itself away."

Hermione nodded, leaving the book on the coffee table in front of the fireplace. She would return to it later.

She followed Mrs. Potter back to the kitchen, although she had wandered the large house well enough that afternoon to know her way around quite well.

Sirius and James were already at the kitchen table, speaking in hushed tones. Sirius saw Hermione over James's shoulder, and smiled. James turned.

"Hermione," he said, by way of greeting. "Here we thought you might have wandered off."

Before Hermione could answer, Mrs. Potter sat at the table and admonished her son, "She was in the library. You know, that room with the books that you have never set foot in…"

"Don't be silly, Mum," James gasped. "I've set foot in there…twice, actually."

"Once by mistake," Sirius laughed.

James grinned. "And once to get _Quidditch Through the Ages_."

Mrs. Potter rolled her eyes at the pair, but smiled lovingly nonetheless.

More than half a dozen plates of food floated down onto the table right then, followed by Mr. Potter. Throughout dinner, the males of the house talked mostly of the impending Quidditch Pitch scheme, and the practicality of hiring trained wizards to assist versus trying to create it themselves.

Mrs. Potter sighed, and turned to Hermione. "It is going to be _so_ nice to have another woman around here."

"Are you staying here, then?" James asked, swallowing a mouthful of food. Although James had asked, Hermione's eyes went to Sirius, whose expression was unreadable

"For a while," Mr. Potter answered for her.

Sirius beamed, as James went back to talking to his father about his Pitch, and the next year's season. Sirius, who was on Hermione's right, leaned close to her, on the pretense of passing a plate of potatoes.

"It will be nice having you here," he whispered. Hermione glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but he wasn't looking at her.

After dinner, Hermione had meant to return to the library, but James and Sirius insisted on dragging her outside to the edge of the woods. There were lights flickering between the trees; they were small, and multi-colored, and twinkling like stars.

"Fairies," Sirius explained quietly. Hermione turned to look up at him, and this time was surprised at his intense gaze. He was not looking at the fairies at all, but directly at her. He didn't say anything, but looked at her for a moment longer. He turned away when James spoke.

"What should we do for tomorrow?" He looked at Hermione's confused expression. "Solstice."

Sirius looked thoughtful. "Is it a full moon?"

James looked sharply at Hermione before answering. "No."

Hermione turned away, feeling as though she were intruding. She knew some of these boys' most intimate secrets. She muttered something about looking at something or other, and ambled down a ways, staying outside the edge of the woods. She heard the boys' voices lower, and figured they were probably talking about Lupin.

Sirius watched Hermione walk away, only half listening as James listed people he would invite. He saw Hermione stop suddenly along the wood, looking at something intently. He did not notice that James had stopped talking.

The shorter boy was watching his friend watch their mysterious guest.

Finally Sirius noticed his stare, and turned sharply. "What did you say?"

James shrugged, smirking. "Nothing, for a good while now. So what's your deal with her, mate?"

"What do you mean?"

"Every chance you get, you're staring at her. Is Sirius in love?" asked James, half-joking.

"Hardly," laughed Sirius. "I mean, she's pretty and all. But I dunno…I just can't figure her out. She has too many secrets."

"Mystery makes a girl attractive," muttered James, unconsciously echoing his father's earlier words.

"I suppose…" replied Sirius. He turned back to watch as Hermione continued to wander away from them.

"Well, are you gonna go after her or what, Romeo?"

Sirius ignored him. "Invite whoever you want, Prongs. I'll be right back." He strode after Hermione silently, James watching carefully.

As Hermione maundered farther away, she noticed a small yellow light following her progress, and as it neared she saw that it was an especially minute fairy. She was staring at Hermione with avid fascination, and it made Hermione uneasy. She floated close, graceful and lithe, and stopped less than an arm's length from her face. Hermione knew that it was rare for wild fairies to approach humans so boldly, and was taken aback. She recovered quickly, though, and said, "Oh, go on then. I'm not bothering you." The fairy only cocked her head, her short curls bobbing to the side. "Leave. Please."

The fairy emitted a tinkling sound, like a bell, and Hermione got the distinct impression that she was being laughed at. She frowned.

"Well what on earth do you want?"

The fairy did not speak, obviously. She flew closer, her delicate wings fluttering against a slight breeze. She appeared to be examining Hermione thoroughly, and was amused by whatever she was finding. Hermione sighed.

"Fine then. Go on and stare. It's not like my week could get much worse. Am I really such a freak that fairies find my plight entertaining?" She huffed and crossed her arms, not caring how childish she looked when there was only a fairy to judge her.

Suddenly she felt a tug in her hair, and Sirius's voice came, startling her.

"We're thinking of inviting some people over tomorrow. Do you mind?"

"Why would I mind?" asked Hermione, perplexed.

Sirius shrugged, looking into the sparkling forest. "Just thought I'd ask, in case you aren't really up for…human interaction." He seemed to find his own words funny, but suppressed a smile as he turned back to her.

"No, it's alright, really. I can always take refuge in the library, as apparently it is so—"

"Your hair is glowing," interjected Sirius, tilting his head. Hermione was very much reminded of his animagus form.

"I—it—oh! You!" growled Hermione, bending over and shaking the fairy out of her hair. "Get out!"

The fairy emerged shyly, glancing fearfully at Sirius as she continued to hide behind an obviously frustrated Hermione.

"Why is she—wow. She's incredibly at ease with you. But…she's wild, isn't she? I've never seen—" He reached forward, but the fairy darted out from behind Hermione and back into the woods. Sirius's eyebrows rose.

"Merlin, I've been trying to get her to leave me alone since I walked over here!" said Hermione, still shaking out her tangled curls. She straightened, and noticing Sirius's strange expression. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied evasively.

Hermione shivered under his scrutiny.

"Are you cold?"

She shook her head, uneasy with the way he was examining her.

Sirius stepped closer; he had to jacket to offer, but he exuded a phenomenal amount of body heat. "James's parents always go to the Crouch's Solstice Ball, so we'll all have the house to ourselves."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Ah, so it's going to be _that_ kind of party."

"No, just a few people," reassured Sirius, rather unconvincingly.

"'A few?'"

"Yeah, a few…few dozen or so…" he said, looking away and running a hand through his hair. He turned back to her, smiling.

Hermione nodded; she was smiling politely, but knew it would not be her type of thing, this party.

"Oi! You two! Come on," called James, already halfway across the lawn to his house.

Hermione avoided Sirius's eyes as they entered the manor, each retreating to his or her respective rooms.

--

"…_so if you're crazy_

_I don't care, you amaze me…"_

--


	7. Chapter Seven

_**The Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed. _Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property." _There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's_Peter Pan_.**

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! I really take your thoughts and opinions into account, I do. Yes, that was "Tink" making an appearance in her physical form, last chapter. In the story itself, James is _really_ Tinkerbell (plot-wise), interestingly enough...That creates quite the visual, does it not? Thank you all for reading. The song is "Samson", by Regina Spektor. _**This chapter is rated PG-13/T, for alcohol use, drug use, and scenes of mild sexual nature, all involving minors.**_

--

"_You are my sweetest downfall_

_I loved you first, I loved you first…"_

--

Hermione had taken refuge in the library. Less than half of James's guests had arrived, and already she was retreating into a familiar (and quiet) location. The "small gathering" James had initially described was nothing less than a full-blown, parents-out-of-the-house, teenage party. Strangely, James had full permission from his parents to throw such a party, as long as he promised to be safe.

Sirius was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione did not feel like striking up a conversation with Remus Lupin while he was talking to Peter Pettigrew.

Hermione was looking through the meticulously organized library appreciatively, but she was also searching for anything that could possibly help her own situation, or Harry and Ron's back (or forward) in her own time.

She found a few quasi-useful volumes; she began stacking them near an armchair, when the library door opened and two teenagers, who were rather…er, _engaged_ with one another, and stumbled in.

"Oh, don't mind me," huffed Hermione, grabbing a few of the books and stalking out of the library. The couple took no heed of her presence.

Hermione decided to simply retire to her own room, taking the books with her. As she made her way down the hall on the third floor, however, she noticed a particular door. It led to the room from which she had seen Sirius emerge, the day before. Curious, Hermione tried the door. It was unlocked, and opened noiselessly. The room was dark, and appeared to be empty. It was circular, and small: not much larger than a walk-in closet, and contained no furniture. Hermione entered uncertainly, allowing time for her eyes to adjust.

"But there isn't anything in here," she muttered to herself, glancing around the thickly carpeted floor.

"Look up," whispered a masculine voice, in her ear.

Hermione started, turning and withdrawing her wand immediately. A hand grabbed her wrist, and a bark of laughter sounded.

"You really aren't very observant," he chuckled. "I was behind the door."

"Sirius," breathed Hermione in relief. "Why would you scare me like that?"

"I didn't entirely mean to," he answered, only half-sincere. He leaned toward her, and she could make out his gleaming eyes. He released her wrist, and repeated his earlier words. "Look up."

She did, and only barely succeeded in withholding a gasp: the ceiling was high, and domed. It was the deepest indigo, a mirror image of the night sky above its roof. There were countless stars smattered across, as though Jackson Pollack had dipped a paintbrush in liquid Mercury and splattered it across this velvet canvas. There were stars, and galaxies, and more planets than the naked eye could see on the clearest and darkest of nights.

"The enchantment allows it to show the night sky even when it is daylight outside," explained Sirius in a hushed voice. Hermione hadn't heard him step so close to her; he stood right behind her. She turned her head to see his eyes trained on the miraculous ceiling, but they turned to her immediately.

"Why are you in here?" he asked without hostility.

"I could ask you the same question," replied Hermione, turning back to watch a miniscule meteor shower shoot across one side of the ceiling. She knew instinctively that she would never be able to see that same shower if she were looking at the true sky. "There _is_ a party going on downstairs, you know."

"Yes, I thought I noticed a few extra people in the house," he replied; his smile was evident, even in the rich darkness.

"The library was…occupied," murmured Hermione, thankful of the dark that hid her blush.

"Ah."

"So I was going to my room, to read."

"And you were diverted?"

He was close enough that she could feel his breath in her hair, on her ear. His hand reached up to brush a wayward curl that had fallen from its place.

Hermione closed her eyes, leaning unconsciously into his touch. "Yes…"

--

_Earlier that evening..._

Sirius leant against a tree, eyes half lidded.

He had avoided most of the party guests, unwilling to be bombarded by conversation. As he had been meandering across the lawn, however, a familiar call had caught his attention. Mundungus Fletcher was actually quite a bit older than James or Sirius, but he always managed to find his way into their parties with promises of Firewhiskey and weed.

Fletcher had beckoned Sirius over to a circle of half a dozen or so witches and young wizards, pipe in one hand, paper bag in the other.

Half an hour later, Sirius found himself sufficiently high, and was leaning against a willow contentedly. A witch whose name he had forgotten was talking to him about one thing or another, but he suddenly felt the urge to get away from people. He stood, muttering something about being alone, and the witch placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"We could be alone together," she whispered slyly. Sirius considered the option; she was a good-looking girl, maybe a year younger than him.

But he decided against it, smiling at her. "I wouldn't really be alone if you were with me, love." He loped across the lawn toward the house, trying to make his way to the staircase and the charmed Astronomy room without being bombarded with drunken revelers. James caught his eye somewhere near the foyer, raising his eyebrows, but Sirius ignored him and continued up the stairs.

It seemed to take hours, but Sirius reached the room and entered, lying on the rich carpet lazily. He was staring up at the exaggerated starlight blankly when he heard soft footsteps near the door, and he stood, leaning against he wall behind the door as it opened. Sirius knew it was her before she had fully entered the room, and treaded silently up behind her.

He startled her, quasi-accidentally, and watched her expression carefully as she examined the enchanted ceiling. He remembered when he had first discovered the nearly unused room, back during the summer between his third and fourth year, and was touched to see own amazement mirrored on this enigmatic witch's face.

She turned to look at him, and Sirius immediately trained his eyes on the stars once more. She turned away, allowing Sirius to move closer—but he did not touch her, at least not until a wild curl had fallen onto her cheek. She closed her eyes, and Sirius knew that if he just leant in, closed the miniscule distance between them, that she would not resist.

But then the door had opened, and light from the hallways poured in.

James stood in the doorway, not quite so drunk that he didn't realize he had interrupted something. Well, he almost had. He threw an apologetic glance at Sirius, but the moment was lost and Hermione stepped away quickly and left the room, leaving her forgotten books on the floor.

Sirius heard the door down the hall shut quietly, and he glared at James darkly before shrugging.

"Sorry, Padfoot—"

"Forget it," Sirius muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Did you need something?"

"Just…wondering where you had gotten off to," said James. He shrugged awkwardly.

Sirius wasn't angry with James, at all. He knew it would have been a mistake to go through with his intentions, and was partially thankful that his friend had opened the door when he had. But another part of him was very guiltily wishing that James had been too drunk to wonder where Sirius had been.

"She left her books," observed James, glancing at the stack of volumes on the carpet, near the door.

Sirius looked curiously at the large manuscripts stacked so neatly. He had not even seen her bring them in.

"You could bring them to her."

Sirius nodded, bending to collect them in his arms. "Light reading," he joked, rearranging them so they wouldn't fall.

James cracked a smile, turning to leave.

"Prongs."

He turned, waiting for Sirius to continue. The taller boy looked up, shaking the hair out of his eyes with a smirk. "Don't come back upstairs for a while."

Starting down the stairs, James waved to show he understood.

Sirius waited until the echoes from his footsteps had died away, then made his way to Hermione's room. He stopped outside her door, however, and stared down at the cover of the first book on the stack: _The Dark Arts and the Wizards Who Use Them_. The second volume was titled _Defeating the Undefeatable: the Fall of Grindelwald_. The third was a history of dark wizards, and the final book was concerning defensive techniques and spells.

_What was she researching _this_ stuff for? _Some of the titles reminded him of things that Snape might read, for fun.

Not for the first time since he had found her, exhausted in the woods, Sirius Black found himself wondering exactly _who this witch was_.

--

When James had appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the light form the hallway, Hermione's first thought had been that it was Harry, and here she was in a dark room with his godfather. Of course, in reality, it had been a slightly inebriated James, but the damage was done: Hermione recoiled from Sirius, and hurried to her bedroom without delay.

Now Hermione was in the washroom, just emerging from the waterfall-like shower and toweling her hair. She threw the towel down in frustration: her hair never behaved, anyhow. She picked up the large shirt that Sirius had lent her, pulling it on. Mrs. Potter had promised to take her out to purchase a few outfits, insisting that it was no problem, and that Hermione couldn't continue to wear Sirius's old things anyway. Hermione agreed, but had to admit that his worn band shirts _were_ phenomenally comfortable.

She entered her bedroom and froze: the owner of said shirt was lounging in the armchair, waiting for her. His eyebrows rose when he saw her, but he said nothing. Hermione continued to the wardrobe, ignoring the way that his pale eyes followed her every move, and pulled on her discarded jeans.

"You don't need to dress up for my sake." He was smirking at her openly.

"What do you want?" asked Hermione wearily. She really was exhausted.

"Want me to lend you some boxers or something?"

She resisted the urge to bite his head off right then; she hated it when someone answered one question with another. She ran a hand through her damp curls. "What do you _want_?"

He stood, his eyes darkening. He gestured to the pile of books he had thrown onto her bed.

Hermione stared at them blankly. She knew without seeing his expression that he wanted to know what was going on, wanted to know why she was researching such dark material.

She walked to one of the windows, looking down at the teenagers lounging about across the lawn, insouciant and carefree. Their blithesome nature ignited something new: envy, of such potent nature that Hermione almost did not believe it belonged to her. She did not hear Sirius approach, but knew that he was directly behind her, staring not at the witches and wizards below, but at the witch in front of him.

"Hermione, who are you?"

--

"…_the stars came falling on our heads_

_but they're just old light, they're just old light…"_

--

**Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading.**


	8. Chapter Eight

_**The Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed. _Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property." _There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's_Peter Pan_.**

**A/N:** Thank you guys for your input and reviews. I always love how the responses get more specific and detailed as the story further develops. Special thanks to _ginsensu, Toxxic-hugs,_ and _creative-writing-girl-13_, for their multiple reviews. Also, I'd like to thank everyone who has fav'd _The Perennial State_, as well as everyone who reads (it doesn't matter if you review or not, just knowing that someone out there is appreciating my story, and reading it, is more than enough). Thanks to _all_ of you. The song is "Fix You", by Coldplay.

--

"…_Tears stream down your face_

_when you lose something you cannot replace…"_

--

"Hermione, who are you?"

He had whispered the question, but Hermione felt as though he had shouted it, and it was reverberating again and again in the room.

"Sirius, please..."

He grabbed her arms, firmly, and spun her around to face him, bending to look into her face; he was much too close.

Hermione shut her eyes tight, and turned her head away from him, biting her lip.

Sirius leaned his forehead against hers, one hand tangled in her still-damp curls to keep her there. "Hermione," he whispered hoarsely, his breath warm on her cheek.

Hermione tried to wrench away, but he held her securely. She settled for turning her head sharply away from his, but he grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. She blinked open her eyes, and was suddenly reminded of when she had first met Sirius, after he had escaped Azkaban. So dark was his expression, so pleading and desperate were his eyes; Hermione was nearly persuaded to explain everything. But she shook her head slowly, her bottom lip stinging from where she had been chewing on it.

"I can't tell you."

Her words were almost inaudible, but the effect was immediate. Hermione found herself alone in her room, a slam echoing throughout the house. The doorframe shuddered at the force from Sirius's exit.

Hermione collapsed onto the floor, leaning against the wall below the windowsill, breathing deeply. She had almost revealed a secret that could cost everyone, everything.

Not for the first time, Hermione felt the thick feeling of sobs welling within her chest, but she stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her warm face. Calmed, she fell into bed without extinguishing the lights, and fell into a deep sleep at once.

The next morning, Sirius all but ignored Hermione. She dressed in her own clothing, and went downstairs to find the house in a horrid state of disarray. James was yawning, lying across the couch. Almost all of the guests had Flooed or Apparated to their homes. The few who remained were helping clean up the considerable mess, but not one was able to use magic, as they were underage. Hermione began to cast cleaning charms, significantly speeding up the process. Remus Lupin smiled his thanks, and Hermione was struck by how much more lighthearted he appeared, although he still had an air of weariness about him.

Seeing they were no longer needed, the remaining guests left until only Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew remained. The three finished tidying, and headed to the kitchen to scavenge for any food that remained in the house.

Although her initial instinct was hostility, Hermione warmed to Peter as his unsure, clumsily sweet nature reminded her of Neville Longbottom. Remus was quiet but kind, and once Sirius entered the kitchen Hermione was glad to have befriended the two. Sirius greeted his friends with nods and a tight smile, but did not even glance at Hermione.

Neither Remus nor Peter said anything at this, but they both looked at Hermione questioningly. Her expression of dismay did not deter Sirius from outright disregarding her presence, even as he took the seat directly beside her.

James eventually stumbled blearily into the kitchen, squinting at the cleanliness. Remus pointed to Hermione by way of explanation, and James beamed.

"Thanks, Hermione," said James, sincerely. He sat on her other side, detecting but not acknowledging Sirius's cold attitude. "Mum usually cleans up, but I'm sure she'll be glad to get a break this time."

"When will your parents return?" asked Sirius stiffly.

James took no notice of his friend's formality, and answered brightly that they would arrive by evening, and would bring groceries.

As Remus delved through the vacant cupboards in vain, James turned to his companions cheerfully. "So, what should we do today?"

No one answered, so he started listing ideas ranging from Quidditch scrimmages to exploring Muggle London. Peter only half-listened; Hermione tried to pay attention to James but was distracted by Sirius, who was scowling at his best friend. James ultimately ran out of ideas, so he turned to the only female in the house. "What do you think, Hermione?"

She started; she had been watching Sirius out of the corner of her eye. "Er, I dunno…"

"Why don't you go read your books," muttered Sirius.

There was an awkward silence. Hermione stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Sirius turned to her angrily. "You heard me."

"If you're going to act like a petulant child, at least have the backbone to stand up and confront me, instead of mumbling insults under your breath," Hermione snapped, standing so quickly that her chair almost toppled. She turned and began to leave, but she stopped and turned to glare back at him. "Some Gryffindor _you_ are." She strode away and up the stairs.

Sirius glowered after her, his lip curling. James stared after her as well, but for en entirely different reason.

"How did she know that you're in Gryffindor?" he asked after a pause.

Sirius's eyes widened, scowl slipping off his face abruptly. "You know what, Prongs…I have _no_ idea…"

--

Hermione paced her room, angrily. She repeatedly picked up the books from the Potters' library, opened them, began to read, and then threw them onto the bed in anger, resuming her pacing.

"Urgh!" she growled, hurling the book at her pillow. "He's so immature!" She supposed that it did not help that she knew he would never get much better; he would never grow up.

Huffing, Hermione strode to the window and stared out blankly. A knock sounded at the door. "Go away!" She shouted.

"Hermione," a gentle voice came. "It's Remus."

She called for him to enter, apologizing. He smiled sympathetically.

"We're going to London for the afternoon; would you like to come?" he asked.

Hermione considered it, but then shook her head no when she remembered that Sirius was probably going. Remus nodded and left her alone.

--

"Come on, Padfoot," James pleaded. He was bordering on a whine, he knew; but Sirius was being stubborn.

"I'm not going if she's going," he said resolutely. He was slouched on the sofa in the living room.

"Would you tell me what happened?" asked James.

"No."

"Fine," sighed James. "Stay here then. And when my parents get back, will you tell them where we've gone?"

Sirius nodded, and James left him alone.

--

The sun was setting; the house had been silent for hours. Hermione saw the first star appear in the darkening sky, soon followed by another. She sighed: she hadn't left her room all day, but she had not gotten any reading done, either.

She opened her door suspiciously, glancing down the hall to the Astronomy room. It was silent, the door closed.

Hermione stepped into the hallways, and padded silently down the stairs and out the kitchen door. The night was warm, and there were insects buzzing in the air.

She ambled vaguely toward the woods, watching the multicolored lights emerge between the trees. The fairies were fluttering much more excitedly than they had the other night, and a familiar yellow light broke from the throng to float toward the witch.

Hermione sighed as she recognized her fairy stalker, who fearlessly flew right up onto her shoulder. "Hello," Hermione greeted, glumly.

The fairy cocked her head in a way that was uncannily similar to Sirius, and a new wave of misery washed over Hermione. The fairy seemed to notice, and started doing cartwheels in the air to raise her new friend's spirits. Hermione smiled half-heartedly, and kneeled on the grass to watch the fairies in the woods.

Two pops sounded nearby, and Hermione looked up to see Mr. and Mrs. Potter laughing about something. They spied her, on the ground, simultaneously.

"Hello, Hermione," Mr. Potter greeted brightly. He spotted the fairy fluttering around Hermione's head, and pointed her out.

"Yeah…she won't leave me alone," said Hermione. "Not that I mind the company, at the moment." The fairy beamed at this, glowing a bit brighter.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter exchanged a glance, full of curiosity concerning the fairy, and worry over Hermione.

"Dear, why are you out here all by yourself?" asked Mrs. Potter.

"James, Peter, and Remus went to London," explained Hermione. She hesitated.

"Sirius stayed here with you?" asked Mr. Potter, hopefully.

Hermione frowned. "I don't know if he went with them or not."

The Potters exchanged another worried gaze, wondering exactly what all had happened while they were away.

--

Sirius heard the soft footsteps outside the Astronomy room. She was walking very quietly; if his Animagus form were not an animal with such extraordinary hearing, he probably wouldn't have heard her. He sighed to himself.

Once he heard the kitchen door downstairs shut, he pulled himself to his feet and left the room cautiously. He made his way to Hermione's bedroom, opening the door and slipping inside carefully. He glanced around at the unmade bed and books strewn about.

He picked up the nearest volume, and left with it, heading downstairs to skim through it. Hopefully, he could find out what Hermione was after.

As he passed a window in the kitchen, he saw the Potters speaking with Hermione, who was accompanied by that yellow fairy once more.

Sirius continued into the living room, where he sprawled across the sofa, and opened Hermione's book.

--

Hermione followed James's parents into the house, where Mr. Potter withdrew a small contained from his pocket. He set it on the counter, enlarged it magically, and opened a full-size trunk full of food. He and Mrs. Potter began putting away their groceries, declining Hermione's offer to help.

Hermione meandered into the living room, freezing at the sight of Sirius, who was lounging, reading one of _her_ books.

"_You went into my room?!_" she hissed dangerously, hands on her hips.

Sirius glanced up at her momentarily, and then returned his concentration to the manuscript in his hand. "I can't figure you out, Hermione."

"Oh, how bloody awful for you," she snapped, angry tears stinging her eyes. "Those are _my_ books!"

"They are the _Potters'_ books," he corrected, still not looking up. "You are borrowing the books from them, just as I am."

"But it's _my_ business! I'm not borrowing that, and neither are you. You're just taking it, as if it belongs to you!" Hermione did not care that she wasn't making any sense, she did not care that her voice was growing more and more shrill as she tried to withhold the tears that were about spill onto her hot cheeks. She did not care that Mr. and Mrs. Potter were approaching, hearing her hysterics. She snatched the book from Sirius's hands. He glared coldly at her, standing and moving nearer. He towered over her, intimidating and radiating frustration and fury, but Hermione took no regard as the tears spilled down her cheeks.

Sirius's glare dissipated, his eyes widening as she cried. He knew that she was not just crying in frustration with him, but that she was crying in frustration with her situation (whatever it was), crying in frustration with being stuck here. How he knew that, he had no idea, but he immediately went forward and held her as she cried, still angrily insulting him.

She shook with her sobs, but took a deep breath and pushed away from him violently, snapping, "Don't touch me, Sirius!" She turned on her heel and darted up the stairs to her room.

Sirius stepped forward to follow her, but felt a firm hand on his shoulder. Mrs. Potter smiled at him sadly, and made past him to follow Hermione. Sirius collapsed onto the couch, head in his hands. He leaned back, brushing one hand over his face and looking over at Mr. Potter, exhausted.

Mr. Potter smiled knowingly, and with a shrug, said, "Can't live with 'em…"

Sirius smiled tiredly, then stood and headed to his bedroom, bidding his surrogate father goodnight.

Mrs. Potter sat on the edge of Hermione's bed as she girl emerged from the washroom, freshly showered. She was wearing her own blouse and jeans, and Mrs. Potter frowned mildly.

"I don't want to wear his clothes," explained Hermione. She sounded utterly drained, and crumpled onto the bed, head in the pillows, her long curls flying everywhere.

"I'll be right back," said Mrs. Potter. She headed to her son's bedroom, knowing Hermione would rather wear a comfortable t-shirt than one of her nightgowns to bed.

James had returned, and was relaxing on his bed, flipping through a broomstick magazine. His mother knocked on the doorframe softly before entering and asking for a shirt for Hermione.

James hopped out of bed, rifling through his drawers before pulling out a clean Quidditch jersey. Mrs. Potter thanked him, and said her goodnights, turning to leave.

"Did they get in another fight?" asked James before his mother left.

"Yes," she answered. "James?"

"Hmm?" he was flipping through the magazine once again.

"Will you check in on Sirius? Make sure he's alright?"

"Already tried; he told me to go away and leave him alone," sighed James, not looking up. "He's being a right prat about things, isn't he?"

"Language," reminded Mrs. Potter. "And…yes. He is."

"He might let you talk to him," he said, glancing over the edge of his magazine, smiling. "He respects your opinion, or something like that."

Mrs. Potter laughed, returning to her son's bedside to kiss the top of his messy head.

"Mum," he mumbled, pushing her away half-heartedly.

"Goodnight," she repeated. "Love you."

"Love you too, Mum."

Mrs. Potter walked down the hall to Sirius's room, and knocked on the locked door.

"Go away," came a muffled command.

"Sirius?"

There was a scrambling, and he unlocked the door.

Mrs. Potter opened the door just a Sirius flopped himself back onto the bed. "Are you alright?"

Sirius shrugged.

Mrs. Potter walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes. "You have to trust her, sweetheart."

Sirius shifted, still unfamiliar with such endearments. His brow was furrowed; he stared out his window interestedly.

Mrs. Potter leaned and gave her second son a goodnight kiss on the forehead; he flinched, but did not pull away. "Goodnight, Sirius."

"'Night."

Mrs. Potter returned to Hermione's room with the Quidditch shirt, which Hermione stare at questioningly.

"James?"

Mrs. Potter nodded and bid the younger witch goodnight; then, turned back to Hermione just as she was about to leave.

"Try to forgive him, Hermione," she said softly. "He doesn't trust easily. He's hardly been given reason to."

Hermione didn't say anything, but nodded, staring out the window.

"Goodnight, dear."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Potter," said Hermione, still staring out the window sadly. "And thank you."

With a smile, Mrs. Potter shut the bedroom door behind her, and made her way to her own bedroom.

--

"…_Tears stream _

_I promise you I will learn from my mistakes…"_

--

**Thank you for reading! Feedback is always helpful, and appreciated. **


	9. Chapter Nine

_**The Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed. _Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property." _There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's_Peter Pan_.**

**A/N:** I love you guys. I really really do. I especially love those who also read and reviewed _Dubiety_. I had that idea running around and around in my brain, and I had to kick it the hell out and into Ashley, my laptop. So here is chapter nine...The song is "Sentimental Heart", by She and Him.

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"_Oh, habits die hard_

_when you got a sentimental heart…"_

--

Strains of music filtered through the hallways and corridors of Potter manor, under doors and into bedrooms where teenagers had slept fitfully.

Hermione blearily cracked an eye open, her face in the pillows, sprawled across her comforter. The music sounded strangely familiar, but she could not place its origin. Yawning, Hermione stood and wandered to the bathroom washing her hair and face sleepily.

When she emerged, she noticed a folded sundress beside the armoire. Hermione smiled at Mrs. Potter's thoughtfulness; it would have been wretched to have to wear her single outfit another day.

The dress was light blue, predominantly, and cut very much in the style of the time. It was thankfully made of something similar to cotton: Hermione didn't think that polyester would have been appropriate for the warm weather (or any other time, for that matter).

It fit well, and was a refreshing change from the jeans and t-shirts she had been wearing. There was also a set of cream-colored summer robes beside the antique wardrobe, but Hermione decided it looked too warm outside to wear them over the dress.

She meandered down the stairs, trying to place the music that continued to drift throughout the house; it was classical, some sort of ballet, or—Oh.

As Hermione rounded the corner, she recognized Tchaikovsky's compositions, altered somewhat, and gazed on as Mr. Potter held a laughing Mrs. Potter, waltzing around the living room. James was watching on, laughing as well, while Mr. Potter told some story from the ball they had attended the other night.

"Hermione, that looks lovely on you," Mrs. Potter called between giggles. Mr. Potter winked at Hermione and playfully spun his wife around the makeshift dance floor.

Their almost was quick and romantic, almost like a combination of an intricate ballet as well as Viennese waltz, but an expertly choreographed version filled with flirtatious spins and lifts, and occasionally the Potters would rise off the ground as one, spinning and floating magically in the air, before settling elegantly back into a lighthearted spin.

Hermione watched, almost hypnotized by their quick movements, not noticing as the music (where exactly was it coming from) transformed into a beautiful rendition of Waltz of the Flowers.

Mr. Potter stepped back from his wife, bowing chivalrously, and turned to Hermione, offering a hand. Hermione hesitantly accepted, unsure she could follow such complicated steps. She tried to recall all the lessons she had ever taken in ballroom dancing and ballet, and allowed herself to be led around the floor amid spins and lifts. She found hardly noticed when they floated off the ground, so masterfully interwoven with the dance the maneuver was.

"You follow very well," James's father smiled.

"Much better than I ever could," said Mrs. Potter, who was standing over by her son. She turned to him conspiratorially, "I always try to lead."

"That you do," laughed Mr. Potter, he looked up and led them both to a particular area of the room. "Care to cut in, Sirius?"

Hermione started, she had not seen him slip downstairs. His hair was damp from a shower, and he was wearing jean trousers and a plain black shirt. He nodded, stepping in and taking Mr. Potter's place instantly, on hand enclosing hers and the other lightly holding her waist.

He led the dance more forcefully than Mr. Potter had, but he also was less formal in his grace. The Waltz of the Flowers continued in the background as he leaned closer to Hermione.

"I'm sorry."

He said it so quietly that Hermione almost thought she had imagined it. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, just as noiselessly. He continued their seamless trek about the room. "You were right. It was entirely your business. I'm sorry for prying, and mistrusting you."

Hermione nodded, trying to follow his lead in dance while following what he was saying. "I'm sorry that I have to keep so many secrets."

"They are yours to keep," he whispered, finally pulling away and bowing his head ceremonially as the dance ended after the crescendo. She had no idea how he had kept their steps in time with the music as it had sped considerably; she had not even noticed the quickening of their own tempo.

He stepped away quickly, his expression stoic.

Hermione smiled at him, mouthing her thanks, and was rewarded by the first grin she had seen from him since he had been in her room.

Mr. Potter clapped a few times, gaining their attention with his applause. "Well done," he congratulated, and Hermione had a feeling he was referring to more than their waltz. "Alright…breakfast?"

The five of them sat at the kitchen table for the first time in days, conversing politely through bites of food.

James, as he had the day before, was trying to decide how to spend the rest of the day. As before, h turned to his guest. "What do you think, Hermione?"

Hermione glanced at Sirius, who was watching her carefully, before answering, "Honestly, I have no idea."

"That doesn't help," huffed James. He turned to his best friend. "Padfoot?"

It was the first time Hermione had heard them use any of their nicknames, and it was a startling reminder that she was not in her own time, but she pushed the rising panic aside.

Sirius looked thoughtful, and he turned to Hermione. "What do you do for fun?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but found she couldn't entirely come up with an answer. She was very tempted to say, "Well, my friends and I save the world from ending in a holocaust on a daily basis", but what with their newly healed and still uneasy friendship, she thought it might not go over well.

"Er…"

James and Sirius's eyebrows rose as she failed to come up with an answer that didn't involve the words "study" or "read".

"Alright, well that settles it. We are going to have to take Hermione out today and teach her how to have fun."

Apparently that fun involved wandering through Diagon Alley, and looking at Quidditch supplies for endless hours.

Hermione sighed, gazing longingly at Flourish and Blotts. She turned to Sirius and James, who were discussing one type of broomstick wax versus another. _Honestly_… she thought, rolling her eyes.

"I'm going to the bookstore," she muttered to them. Sirius glanced up briefly and nodded to show that he had heard her, and looked back to read the ingredients in the wax.

The witch made her way to the bookstore, glancing at the some of the familiar titles in the display window. She entered, breathing in the musty smell of pages and ink and smiling.

She wandered into the nearly empty magical history section, and began reading the titles avidly. The only other person in the aisle was a young redheaded witch, so Hermione saw no harm in reading some of the darker volumes right there.

"They really don't set high enough standards in this bookstore," came a horribly cruel voice from the other end of the aisle. A tall, handsome brunet stood there, leaning against a shelf casually. "Hello, Mudblood."

Hermione stood, about to retort, but the redhead beside her also faced the wizard, angrily flaring up.

"Sod off, Rosier," she hissed.

Hermione stared at this unknown girl, who told off the wizard with such a sharp tongue.

Rosier scowled and brushed past them both, glaring threateningly as he left.

The witch turned to Hermione sheepishly, about to apologize, but Hermione spoke first.

"I thought he was talking me!" she laughed.

The witch seemed relieved. "You're Muggle-born, too?"

At Hermione's nod, she introduced herself as Lily Evans. Hermione shook her hand, saying, "Hermione."

They launched into a discussion revolving around adapting to the Wizarding world, the culture shock, and the discovering that they were witches.

"Oh, I hardly have anyone to talk to at Hogwarts about these types of things," sighed Lily. "I mean, I haven't gone to see a movie in _ages_."

Hermione glanced out the shop window at the Quidditch shop, an idea forming. "Well…do you have a couple of hours to kill?"

Lily grinned. "Absolutely."

"I just have to tell my friends where I'm going," said Hermione. She went to find James and Sirius, who were in almost the exact same places as when she had left them. "I'm going to a movie with a friend. Shall I meet you at the Leaky Cauldron around four?"

The pair nodded, not looking up from the manuals they had found. Hermione left, glad she had found something to do, and a friend with which to do it.

The Leaky Cauldron was filling with patrons coming in after work. The dank atmosphere contrasted with the buoyant laughter that permeated the air.

Sirius was growing anxious. When Hermione had told them she was going to a movie, or whatever, he hadn't paid much heed. Now, however, he was realizing he should have offered to at least walk here there—wherever _it_ was.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar redhead approaching, and beside her was Hermione. Sirius sighed, relieved.

"Where have you _been_? You said you would be back here at four!" said Sirius. He reached over to Hermione and brushed a stubborn curl away from her eyes. She swatted his hand away, looking at the large clock on the wall.

"Sirius, it's three fifty," laughed Hermione.

Lily stood at her side stiffly, glaring at Sirius. He took no notice.

"Well it isn't four," he muttered. He casually pulled her closer to his side, turning his attention to Lily at last. "I didn't know you knew Miss Evans here."

Lily scowled at him, saying, "I suppose Potter is somewhere nearby."

"Quidditch supply store."

"Still?" snickered Hermione.

"He charmed the clerk into a conversation about his Quidditch Pitch idea," explained Sirius, smiling down at her. He looked at the clock again. "Will you wait here? We ought to be getting back soon; I should go tell him." He brushed his lips on her crown as he left.

Lily waited until he had exited the pub before turning to Hermione. "You didn't tell me you were Sirius Black's girlfriend."

"I—what? I'm not. I'm _not_. I'm staying over at the Potters' house, that's all, and I suppose we're sort of friends," clarified Hermione.

Lily looked skeptical but did not pursue the subject further. She smiled brightly at Hermione, saying, "I had an amazing time today. It was really fun to do some Muggle things with another witch. Owl me before summer is over, will you? We'll have to do it again, or go shopping or something."

Hermione nodded, promising to write, and bid Lily goodbye.

"Was that Lily?"

She turned, nodding to James, who looked crestfallen at having missed her.

"If you hadn't been setting up to snog that broomstick," muttered Sirius, winking at Hermione. She grinned, her cheeks warm.

James defended himself indignantly, but nonetheless hurried to tell his parents about his finds the minute they Flooed into the house.

Later than night, as Hermione was lying in her bed, she realized that she had not once thought of Lily Evans as Harry's future mother. In fact, she had hardly thought of Harry or Ron all day.

--

"…_piece of the puzzle, and you're the missing part_

_Oh, what can you do with a sentimental heart?"_

--

**This was such a squishy chapter, but it really is a big stepping stone to the next section, and a huge part of the plot. Feedback is loved and appreciated!**


	10. Chapter Ten

_**The Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed._Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property." _There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's _Peter Pan_.**

**A/N:** I love you guys! Your reviews are basically my sustenance. Thanks so much, all of you, for reading and taking the time to respond. The fairy thing...Hmm, assuming you are referring to the clingy fairy that more or less stalks Hermione every time she goes outside, then yes. It isn't central to the plot (more like representative), but it will be a revealing point much later on. ;) Keep speculating, my dears. Song: "Honey and the Moon", by Joseph Arthur..._highly_ recommended.

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"_But right now, everything you want is wrong_

_and right now, all your dreams are waking up…"_

--

The next day Hermione threw herself into the library early, before anyone else was awake, and began desperately searching for reasons why she would be forgetting details of her past.

The night before, she had tried to visualize the color of Ron's eyes, and had come up blank. She had tried to remember the differences in appearance, between Harry and James, and couldn't. When she tried to picture Harry, she pictured James, with differently colored eyes.

Hermione tore books from the shelves hurriedly, only half-glancing at titles, and began scanning the pages at a frantic pace.

A while, she heard Mr. Potter setting up breakfast, but took no heed.

She knew that they would all be wondering as to her whereabouts, but at the moment the only thing that seemed important was that she couldn't remember the expression on Harry's face when he won he played Quidditch. She was sure he must have looked happy, but the fact that she couldn't recall such details about her best friends was beyond disconcerting: it was horrifying.

After hours of finding no helpful information, on memory or time travel, Hermione had dissolved into mild hysterics, and was still turning the tear-stained page of a book on memory loss while simultaneously trying to recall the moment she had met Harry and Ron.

--

Mrs. Potter had been briskly scouring the halls and various rooms for Hermione after she did not come to breakfast, and then made no appearance at lunch. She had sent Sirius and James outside, asking them to keep an eye out for the young witch, while internally worrying a great deal.

She heard agonized sobs coming from the library, and hurried in to see Hermione surrounded by dozens of large volumes, crying uncontrollably.

Hermione heard the footsteps and tried to breath, to pull herself together; she was unaccustomed to being seen in such disarray.

But the moment that Mrs. Potter kneeled on the floor beside her, gathering the young girl into her arms, Hermione wept once again, for all she had lost.

Mrs. Potter advised Hermione to take several long, lingering breaths. Hermione complied, immediately calming; she told Mrs. Potter of her disappearing memory.

Mrs. Potter frowned, but brushed the younger witch's brown curls from her warm cheeks soothingly. The two moved to the armchairs beside the stagnant fireplace, and Mrs. Potter politely asked the books to return to their original places. They all obeyed immediately, and James's mother looked at Hermione thoughtfully.

"Why don't you tell me some stories about Harry and Ron?"

Hermione looked startled. "Wh-what?"

Smiling, Mrs. Potter elaborated. "I'm sure you three must have had a fair few adventures together. One day you will be able to tell them about this one you are having right now." Hermione considered this: would she really ever be able to tell Harry that she had been able to know his long-gone family, when he had not? "But for now, why don't you tell me about some of the escapades you three have been through. It will help take your mind off of things, and it might even help you remember them. Besides…" Mrs. Potter leaned in, smiling sadly. "I would like to get to know this Harry Potter a little better, even if it is through stories."

Hermione nodded. She stared into the empty fireplace, then closed her eyes, trying to remember. She would not tell any details…they would be just like fairy stories from when she was a little girl, but with Harry, Ron, and herself as the heroes, and their various foes. She would have to change some names, of course…

Hermione opened her eyes, and began telling the story of how she and two eleven-year-old boys defeated the mountain troll that had been sent by an evil man into the enchanted castle.

She pictured each scene in her mind with rich detail, and supplied what she could not remember. She changed names, places, and villains; she simplified the tale from the original event, but she did not change the heart of the piece. The defeat of the troll was the event that had lead to her friendship with the two boys.

Hermione and Mrs. Potter were so entranced with the tale that neither noticed a tall boy enter the room until the story was complete. Sirius stared from his place across the room; he was leaning against a bookshelf, trying to appear casual but obviously mesmerized.

Mrs. Potter beckoned him over to them, about to ask Hermione for another tale. Hermione, however, had already begun to remember more details about her past, their future; she had no intention of stopping her stories anytime soon.

Sirius settled onto the floor beside Hermione, leaning against her armchair and staring blankly into the fireplace as she spoke of a great basilisk that slumbered in the belly of a castle, and the enchanted diary that controlled it.

He distractedly traced the serpent's outline in the carpet, adding more detail as Hermione fleshed out her villain and his weapon.

Mrs. Potter watched Hermione carefully, aware that the younger witch was changing the details for safety's sake, but also aware that a great deal of the story had happened—or, it _would_ happen.

The sky outside the great arched windows of the library was painted a deep magenta, and then violet, and then a deep indigo as the first stars appeared.

The three did not move to leave the library, though, as Hermione found herself recalling more and more while unintentionally entrancing her small audience.

As Hermione's second, longer tale came to a close, Sirius leaned against her leg gently, silently asking her to continue. She seemed to come out of a trance, and looked down at Sirius as if she was only just realizing her was there.

"It's nearly dinner. We should go downstairs," Mrs. Potter said softly, breaking the contented silence. She was looking at Hermione as if she had never seen the girl before. "You haven't eaten anything at all today, dear. And we'll be missed."

Sirius nodded reluctantly, standing and turning to Hermione, who was gazing at the newly fallen night in surprise. She looked up at him, and he held out a hand to assist her out of the chair. She gladly accepted, stretching her cramped muscled as she unfurled timidly.

Mrs. Potter had already left the room, and they could hear her disappearing footsteps.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione interrupted him. "We should go downstairs."

Her companion sighed in dissatisfaction, but nodded and followed her downstairs.

--

James and Mr. Potter did not ask where they had all been, but watched them carefully. Hermione sat next to Sirius, all but ignoring everyone else. The two exchanged very few words, but Mrs. Potter noticed that Sirius made sure to brush Hermione's hands every time a plate was passed.

The older witch smiled gently at the pair, and turned to see that her husband was also watching their strange exchanges. She leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, which he returned automatically, looking at her lovingly.

After supper, Hermione retired to her bedroom in exhaustion. Sometime just barely past midnight, an insistent knocking sounded on her door. She rolled sleepily out of the large bed, padding across the floor. Just as she was about to grasp the handle, the door opened just enough for a hand to grab her and pull her through. Hermione's first instinct was to run, but then she recognized the tall silhouette that was pulling her down the hall none too gently.

"Sirius, what are you—"

He hushed her and opened the door to the Astronomy room, pushing her first. He shut the door behind him, enclosing them in utter darkness.

She sighed, crossing her arms and waiting for her eyes to adjust. She belatedly wished that she were wearing more than just one of Sirius's old shirts, and was suddenly quite thankful for the utter darkness of the room.

"Watch the sky." His hands found their way to her hips and he lightly pulled her into a sitting position on the rich carpet. Hermione did not protest, in her half-waking state, even as he gently forced her to lie on her back. She felt him copy her position beside her, and they both stared at the enchanted ceiling in anticipation.

_Anticipation of what?_

Her internal question was answered as a brightly colored streak crossed the velvet ceiling brilliantly, followed by another, and then another. They were brighter and more beautiful than the most fantastic magical fireworks, and they were spilling across the sky as though someone was blowing tufts of dandelion across the night sky. Hermione knew that this shower was happening millions of light years away, and that they would not have been able to see it with such brilliance with even the most powerful telescope in the world.

She turned her head, cushioned by her buoyant curls, to Sirius. He was watching her carefully, his pale eyes reflecting the dazzling incandescence above them, but his eyes were tracing the features of her face purposefully. She smiled her thanks, and turned back to the beautiful display. There were so many streaks of colored light continuously spilling across the ceiling that it could have been the child of the auroras.

The room itself was illuminated gently, and Hermione felt suddenly self-conscious of her exposed body and tangled hair. She sat up, pulling the hem of the large shirt down further.

Sirius chuckled softly at her uneasiness, and he leaned forward, his lips at her ear. "You look beautiful."

"Everyone looks beautiful by starlight," whispered Hermione. She stood, turning to leave, but Sirius shot in front of her, blocking the exit.

"Stay," he murmured. His eyes glanced to the beautiful ceiling, his pleading expression illuminated by the streaks of light that he saw there. "Stay here with me. Just for a while."

Hermione considered it, biting her lip as she stared at the door past his shoulder. Her eyes locked with his, and she nodded.

They fell back onto the heavily cushioned floor lightly, watching the colors change and the monumental shower recede and then surge, in pulsing swells. The sky outside the room lightened as Hermione fell into a light slumber, her head cushioned on Sirius's arm. Sirius gazed at her for a while, observing the way the colored light reflected off of her pale cheeks, until he too closed his eyes in much-needed sleep.

--

Mrs. Potter checked the library first, when Hermione did not come down to breakfast for the second day in a row. Finding it deserted, she headed up the stairs on her way to Hermione's room, but paused on her son and Sirius's landing. Hesitating, she contemplated continuing without checking the bedroom, but then pushed all thoughts aside and made her way to the door, opening without knocking. That room, too, was devoid of either teenager; in fact, the bed, though unmade, looked as though it had not been slept in at all.

The witch continued up the stairs and rapped on Hermione's door. Hearing no answer, she opened the door to the meticulously clean room. The bed, however, looked _very_ slept-in. She continued to the open bathroom door, but again found no sign of the girl.

She tried not to worry: they might have gone off to the woods, as they had before. _But she has her wand, what would they be looking for?_

She turned and strode down the hall, about to continue down to the kitchen, when she remembered the Astronomy room. Mrs. Potter knew that her surrogate son often spent time there, either when he was unable to sleep or when he wanted to be alone.

Quietly, the witch opened the silent door, and peered in, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. The sunlight from the hallway poured in, illuminating the sleeping couple on the floor. Smiling, Mrs. Potter briefly wondered if they had fallen asleep in that position or if they had moved in their slumber. She left the room, trying not to wake them, and shut the door.

She met her son halfway down the stairs; he had been on his way up.

"Come on, darling, let's go to breakfast," said Mrs. Potter, smiling sweetly.

"Hold on, Sirius probably fell asleep in the Astronomy room again," replied James, continuing up the stairs.

His mother laid a gentle hand on his arm, steering him back down. "He did; let them sleep."

"'Them?'" James echoed in surprise. He turned to look at the door as though he expected "them" to both emerge any minute.

"I said 'him', dear, you must be tired still," said Mrs. Potter, a look of concern gracing her aging features. She pulled her son downstairs, not noticing the Astronomy room's door open a crack, or seeing a curly head of hair hurry down the hallway.

--

Hermione heard the door click closed, and opened her eyes into the absolute darkness. It was awfully early for Mrs. Potter to be looking in on her, she thought.

She shifted in her position, but her muscles protested stiffly. Stifling a yawn, Hermione wondered vaguely why she felt as though she were laying on carpet…

Then she recalled the night's escapades. She sat up sharply, ignoring her griping neck and shoulders, and looked up. The night sky that showed was peaceful, full of twinkling stars and shining galaxies, but it held none of the splendor from before.

She heard a quiet groan from her side, and glanced at Sirius's outline on the floor; she had forgotten he was there with her. She realized with a blush that she had been laying on his chest, and was thankful that he had apparently been asleep as well and did not realize.

His figure sat up as well, rubbing a hand across his face bewilderedly. His eyes were well adjusted to the dark, and he saw Hermione beside him plainly. "'Morning," yawned Sirius, stretching.

"'Morning," muttered Hermione instinctively. Hermione stood and made her way to the door in time to hear Mrs. Potter talking to James on the stairs. At James's words, she glanced back at Sirius. "Do you often sleep in here?"

Sirius nodded, forgetting she could not see him as clearly as he saw her. "Yeah. Most mornings, if I'm not in my room or the kitchen, James comes looking for me here."

Hermione nodded absentmindedly. She continued to listen to the conversation outside, wincing as James caught Mrs. Potter's slip, then internally cheering at the older witch's brilliant save. She heard their footsteps die away, and opened the door, checking to see if the coast was clear. "See you later!" she whispered back to Sirius as she slipped out, heading to her room for a shower and a change of clothes.

Sirius stood slowly, heading toward his own room; he was trying to forget that he had just had what was the best night's sleep, for him, in ages.

--

"_Don't know why I'm still afraid,_

_if you weren't real I would make you up..."_

--

**Feedback is wonderful, and so are you. Thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter Eleven: James's Interlude

_**The Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed._Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property." _There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's _Peter Pan_.**

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, my loves. This is a small chapter from the point of view of James, our (sort of) Tinkerbell. We are a little more than 1/3 of the way through with our story. James will have one more interlude at the 2/3 mark. The song is "Across the Universe", by The Beatles. For some fun, why don't you listen to the Fiona Apple or Rufus Wainwright version.

--

"…_sounds of laughter, shades of earth, _

_are ringing through my open mind,_

_inciting and inviting me…"_

--

Hermione began to fall into an easy routine: wake up, shower, choose an outfit from her rather limited selection, and head downstairs for breakfast. James sometimes insisted that she accompany he and Sirius along their journeys, but she had a feeling it was more for Sirius's sake than her own, or even James's. In the evening, after supper, she would retire to the library to either read and research or to tell adventuresome tales from her own time. Mrs. Potter often sat in to listen, and Mr. Potter sometimes accompanied her; James had even listened in a few times.

However, while Hermione initially began telling the stories to preserve her own memory and sanity, her motives slowly began to change (not that she would ever admit that fact to herself). She began embellishing the stories further, until she hardly recognized them as her own tales; Harry became more heroic, more wholesome, and less of a real person to her as she told and retold the tales to the one person who always, without fail, sat by her side to listen.

No one could tell how it was so expertly coordinated: either Sirius instinctively knew the nights when Hermione was going to tell a story rather, or Hermione only chose to tell a story the nights that Sirius accompanied her to the library. He would sit at her feet, his head leaning on her thigh, or she would join him on the floor, her head resting on his chest as she spoke of richly beautified versions of herself and her friends.

James was finding the situation incredibly difficult to accept. He was torn between wanting his best friend—his brother—to be happy, and wanting to everything to be how it was before this girl had been found in his backyard.

Consequently, he began to examine Hermione. Not physically, of course, because Sirius would probably kill him, but he examined her as a person. He listened to a few of her stories, and found them engaging and well-told; but James did not see what it was about this girl that had his parents and his best friend so enraptured. She was pretty, and intelligent…but so was Lily, and Sirius only tolerated her for James's sake.

Sirius and Hermione were not together. James knew that if they were, he would be the first to know. It seemed to him, though, that Hermione was the one resisting, even if she never explicitly said anything to keep Sirius at bay. Speaking of baying…

Padfoot's howl echoed across the moor. Presently they were rollicking across the expansive area behind the Lupins' house. After their son became a werewolf, the family bought a massive amount of cheap, nearly useless acreage. The entire area was a fen, made up of stinking marshland and heath vegetation. It was perfect for a werewolf on full moons.

Getting there was a pain, and had to be done in near-secret, but James, Peter, and Sirius always managed it. Currently Padfoot was off wandering with Moony, while Prongs was carefully stepping around a sort of bog, keeping an eye out for any small, dark creatures lurking about.

It was the last full moon before their Seventh Year; there were less than two weeks left until the new term. James had a feeling everything was going to be changing soon, and he wasn't sure that he was going to be ready for it.

James shook his antler-clad head, and leapt forward onto the dry ground ahead, just as he saw Wormtail dark from beneath a tuft of heather, and jet across the small hill gleefully. James followed, tossing his head as he sped past his friend. An enormous, shaggy black dog was bounding exuberantly on the other side of it, rolling in the rough grass happily. The huge werewolf that was Remus came into view, dwarfing Padfoot by comparison.

Prongs hurdled forward, half-landing on his friends; they wrestled, none too gently, as they allowed Moony to take his excessive energy out on them.

Moony tackled Padfoot with a dark growl, and Prongs watched on, partially amused and partially wary. If he had been in his human form right then, he was sure he would have sighed with happiness. He wished it could always be like this.

--

"_...nothing's gonna change my world_

_nothing's gonna change my world…"_

--

**Feedback is always gladly accepted and appreciated! Thank you _so_ much for reading. **


	12. Chapter Twelve

_**he Perennial State**_

**by**

**Padfootz-luvr**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing you recognize is mine.

**Full Summary: _For the life of her, Hermione had no idea where she had landed._Hermione, Ron, and Harry are escaping Death Eaters by broomstick, the summer before their 7th year, when Hermione is hit with an unknown curse, and falls into a mysterious wood. _"This is private property." _There she is found by a young man who claims to be someone she once knew...SBHG, loosely based on themes found in J. M. Barry's _Peter Pan_.**

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay, my little readers! Here is chappie twelve, for your enjoyment. As always, I appreciate any feedback. Thank you guys for your positive responses, critique, etc. The song is "Champagne Supernova, by Oasis. The Matt Pond PA cover rocks, as well.

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"_slowly walking down the hall_

_faster than a cannonball…"_

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There was only a week left until their final year at Hogwarts began. James had decided he would throw a massive party, and invite almost every classmate in their year. He even deigned to invite a few Slytherins.

Hermione was not looking forward to said party. It was destined to result in loud teenagers, excessive booze, and drunken trysts in such places as the library. There was another reason that she felt an innate dread whenever the party was mentioned (which was often), although she did not admit it to herself.

It was an end-of-summer party. It was being thrown as a last hurrah before the students all returned to Hogwarts. _All_ of the students, including James. Including Sirius. Hermione was not about to attend a school where she would be witness to the happiness of people whose futures she knew. She would be staying at the Potters', continuing her research as best she could.

She tried to tell herself that without James and, especially, Sirius to distract her from any research, she would get more done and be able to get home to her own time more quickly.

There were, however, a few flaws in this plan: she secretly enjoyed the distractions that the boys provided; she enjoyed their company immensely; and, most of all, she was beginning to doubt there was a time to which she _could_ return. She had been thinking over the philosophy and the logic of it all, and was beginning to doubt her own stories. How could she _return_ to a time that had not even happened yet? How did she know that she hadn't been hit with a curse in _this_ time that created these memories? What if they were not memories of Hermione's life, but another witch's? When she spent time with James and Sirius, she couldn't help but feel they were more real to her than the memories of Harry and Ron ever were.

It was only after spending a day with Lily Evans that Hermione remembered the color of Harry's eyes. One day, she had not been able to recall either boy's face to memory; she had compiled a list of physical traits, for Harry and Ron. Now, she could only picture their faces when she read through the list carefully, memorizing it. Even after that, their faces were wooden, and rough, and blank like dolls.

Hermione knew she should be more upset about this, but every time she felt a growing lump in her throat, Sirius would pop out of nowhere (literally, as he finally mastered Apparating more than half a year after he had turned seventeen) and sling a casual arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him with a smile.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter watched the teenagers of their house with a mixture of worry and pride. Their worry was stemmed from the growing apprehension of war, and their nearly grown children, whom they all considered truly _theirs_, and Hermione's dissipating memory. On the other hand, James and Sirius were become truly adept wizards, and Hermione was an intelligent and talented young witch. James had shown maturity the last few times Lily had been over (to visit Hermione), and Sirius's increasing devotion to Hermione was a thing at which to be marveled.

James's parents had agreed to let their son throw his party, and they had agreed to leave the house for the night to visit some friends, as long as he cleaned up afterwards. James readily agreed, and had immediately set to disperse invitations.

Sirius assisted distractedly, but was continuously going off to be with Hermione. Although this initially frustrated James to no end, he found himself blaming Hermione over Sirius; he invited Remus and Peter to stay for the remaining week before term, to keep him company.

The party itself was set to begin around twilight, and to end just before sunrise (or whenever anyone wanted to leave). Every invitation sent out recommended that the guests themselves should bring guests, and it was expected that more than a third of the school would attend, as well as a good deal of graduated students.

The day of the party, Hermione retreated to the library. She knew it would undoubtedly be occupied soon after the party started, and while she didn't want to deny students their "fun", she wanted to savor the quiet while it lasted.

James had insisted that she share in the party, at least for a little while. Hermione sighed, deciding resolutely to make an appearance, and then leave as quickly as possible. She could read in her room, or even find solace in the Astronomy room, which for some reason tended to remain unoccupied.

As the sun began to set, various pops were heard around the property, and a constant rushing sound was heard from the fireplaces as guests arrived by the handful. By the time twilight rolled around, and the sky took on a soft, romantic glow from the sun's refracted light, the house and lawn were filled with wizards and witches of ages ranging from fourteen and fifteen to twenty-something.

Hermione saw, with surprise, Lily Evans in the kitchen talking to Remus, and she waved uncertainly, as though Lily might be a hallucination. The redhead waved back, beaming, then turned back to Remus as he spoke. Hermione wandered out over the grounds, already uncomfortable with the sheer number of people around, and walked vaguely in the direction of the woods. She stood on the border, looking in to watch multicolored fairies swirl deep within the confines of the trees and brush. She glanced back at the house, alight with laughter and spirited optimism; she did not feel she had a place anywhere she went.

Sighing, she turned back to the woods in time to see a dark figure step out quickly and grab her hand in his.

Earlier in the summer, Hermione would have screamed, or fought, or backed away; now, however, she recognized Sirius's tall silhouette instantly, and followed him as he led her deep into the wild growth. As they walked, Hermione heard music, composed of the most miniscule bells and voices. He placed a finger on his lips silently, and pushed aside a frond to reveal the fairies. They were arranged in tiers, spinning with more grace than Hermione felt any living thing had ever possessed.

At the top tier, a beautiful female, gowned resplendently in the skeletons of leaves and the most delicate cobwebs, was spinning with such apparent joy than Hermione's cheeks moistened with unnoticed tears. A male fairy held her hand dexterously, floating still and staring at his partner with absolute pride and adoration. She glowed more brightly than all the other fairies combined, and Hermione almost had to squint to see her: it was like looking at the sun.

She turned to Sirius, barely managing to tear her eyes from the breathtaking sight. He was very close, staring not at the spectacle before them, but at Hermione, enraptured. His eyes reflected a light that did not come from the luminous fairies at all. The words she had been about to whisper faded from mind, and he pulled her away from the fairies' ball quietly.

He pulled her to him, hands on her waist, and fastened her body to his. Her arms wound around his neck as they swayed. As before, when they had danced, they rose magically from the ground; however, unlike their previous dance, there was nothing formal or choreographed. This was intimate, almost carnal. They spun slowly, though not of their own accord, as they rose a few feet above the ground.

Sirius inclined his head so that his rough jaw brushed her temple, and he drank in her scent hungrily.

Hermione's hand forcefully pulled his face to hers, brushing their lips together gently.

He responded immediately, as if he had just been waiting for an indication from her: he pressed his lips to hers, hard, and tilted her head for better access.

They slowly returned to the ground, and as their feet touched the soft soil Sirius pushed her into a tree, breathing heavily. "Hermione," he whispered huskily into her hair.

Once again she felt obliged to physically force his mouth to hers, crushingly, painfully. His hands investigated her body as though memorizing it, wandering from her untamed curls to her waist, to everything in between. Hermione urgently pulled his body to her own, desperate to do away with whatever space remained.

Sirius seemed perfectly happy to comply, breaking away for half a second to push her further up onto the tree before descending on her once more; they tangled together.

Hermione sighed as his mouth moved to her neck, and used her legs to pull him closer.

There was a crackling nearby, and Hermione, whose head had been thrown back against the tree's trunk to allow Sirius better access to her throat, straightened, unwinding her legs from around Sirius's waist. She strained against him, and caught sight of a flash of crimson before Sirius bent again, catching her lips. She responded unthinkingly, but pushed him away when she heard a distinct footstep.

"_Lumos_," she whispered, withdrawing her wand. Its beam of light swept over the slightly guilty faces of James and Lily. Lily glanced between Hermione and Sirius, mouthing an apology. James just glared.

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she noticed that James was showing Lily the fairies' ball. She turned angrily to Sirius, surprised to see him glowering at his best friend darkly.

"Unbelievable," muttered Hermione. She turned to leave the woods, but Sirius grabbed her arm and wrenched her back to face him. Hermione's wand was pointed under his chin in less than a heartbeat, almost touching him. She hissed one word, a warning: "Don't."

Sirius let go of her arm, staring after her sadly. Lily murmured something about seeing if she was all right, and followed. Sirius turned his eyes on his friend.

"Don't you dare get pissed at me because you didn't get to shag your bird," said James, with such a nonchalant air that Sirius had to breathe very deeply to reign in his temper.

"You know it isn't about that, Prongs," said Sirius, turning to leave.

"How can you just turn your back on me? _Me_, Sirius! James Potter! Your best mate, and you're turning your back on me for a girl you met two months ago, for a girl who constantly _lies_ to you, for a girl you don't even know!" James exploded, striding forward and pushing Sirius, hard, on the shoulder.

"You're drunk," said Sirius disgustedly. "I am not going to fight you, James."

"Why not, Black?" James shoved his shoulder again, hard. Sirius's back hit the tree that he and Hermione had been snogging against.

"Because it wouldn't be fair for you," growled Sirius, pushing James back with two hands.

Unexpectedly, James stepped back, transforming into a stag and lowering his head and pawing the ground with his hoof.

Sirius's eyes widened as James shot forward.

James probably hadn't meant to actually hurt his friend. He had probably expected Sirius to transform into his animagus form as well, in defense. Perhaps Sirius was just too surprised that James would do something so stupid; it was a mistake he would make years later with his godson.

James pulled away immediately, transforming back into himself with a horrified expression. "Padfoot…Oh, Merlin…Sirius! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean—I didn't…We have to get you to St. Mungo's, come on!"

Sirius groaned, leaning against the tree and holding his side. He had dodged James's antlers, for the most part, but was still gored on his left side. He laughed dryly. "I can't believe you did that!"

James smiled weakly in response, searching his pockets for his wand, in vain. He sighed. "How bad is it?"

Sirius shook his head, gritting his teeth through a wave of pain, then sighed as it passed. "Not that bad, I don't think. You weren't very good aim."

"I'm a little drunk," laughed James half-heartedly; he passed a hand over his face. "Let me see."

"No, James, don't worry—"

James pried Sirius's bloodied hands away from the wound, both hissing: one in pain as the night air touched his wound, the other in despair at what he had done. James bit his lip. "We should take you to the hospital."

Sirius shook his head roughly, sliding down the tree.

"Padfoot—"

James knelt by his friend. "It isn't fatal, or anything…but you're bleeding an awful lot, I mean…Merlin, Pads, I am so sorry."

Sirius waved it off, and then tore a corner off of James's robe unexpectedly to staunch the flow. "'M sorry, too. Come on, can you just…help me up, and back to the house?"

James nodded, leaning and hoisting Sirius to his feet by his arm, then pulling it over his shoulder, instructing, "Use me as your crutch."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, wincing immediately afterwards. "I ought to _kick_ you in the crutch, Prongs…I can't believe you did that."

"I know, I'm really—"

"Sorry, yeah I know. I mean, I didn't think you had the _balls_…"

James rolled his eyes, laughing at his friend and hauling him to the edge of the wood.

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"_someday you will find me caught beneath the landslide_

_in a champagne supernova in the sky…"_

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